Chapter 23 #2
“Mr. Jamison definitely got some action last night,” announced a voice from the back of the library. I couldn’t even see who said it, but the statement was met with giggles and a few crude sound effects that made me want to disappear into the stacks.
“That’s enough—” I started, my voice climbing toward panic territory.
“I mean, look at him,” Julian continued, now fully performing for his audience.
The library door burst open with a bang that cut through the students’ laughter like a thunderclap, and my heart sank as I saw who it was.
Mrs. Winifred Hartwell.
Oh God, no. Not her. Not now.
Mrs. Hartwell was the kind of teacher who made even other faculty members break into cold sweats.
She taught advanced placement history with the iron fist of a medieval inquisitor and had once written a formal complaint objecting to prom because the only thing more lascivious than teenage sex was dancing—because dancing led to sex.
Her gray hair was pulled back so tightly it seemed to stretch her entire face, and she wore the kind of stern expression that could make confession booth priests reconsider their life choices.
Even Principal Morrison avoided her.
“Mr. Jamison,” she began in her crisp, no-nonsense tone, clutching a stack of papers to her chest like armor, “I need to discuss the research parameters for—”
“The man is practically floating. It’s a wonder he’s not walking bowlegged. Someone definitely rocked his world—” Julian declared at exactly that moment, his voice carrying clearly across the suddenly quiet library.
“Julian!” I practically shouted.
Mrs. Hartwell’s mouth fell open.
Her face went through several shades of white before settling on a pale green that suggested she might actually faint or combust or cast some sort of spell on us all.
“I—what—WHO—” she sputtered, her papers scattering to the floor as she pressed her hands to her chest in horror.
“Mrs. Hartwell, that’s not—” I began desperately, but she let out a shriek that could have shattered windows and fled the library like she was escaping a burning building. The door slammed behind her with such force that several books fell off a nearby shelf.
The library was dead silent for approximately three seconds.
Then every student in the room absolutely lost it.
Julian was practically crying with laughter, while Trevor was doubled over his desk and Madison was making sounds that suggested she might not be able to breathe. Even the usually quiet kids in the corner were giggling behind upraised books I doubted they’d been reading.
I wanted to crawl under the circulation desk and never come out. Maybe I could set up a little apartment back there, survive on overdue fine money and the occasional granola bar from my desk drawer.
“That,” Jake gasped between fits of laughter, “was the greatest thing I have ever witnessed in my entire academic career.”
“I’m so fired,” I muttered, my head in my hands.
“Are you kidding?” Trevor wiped tears from his eyes. “Mrs. Hartwell looked like she was about to have a heart attack. I’ve never seen her move that fast. Mr. J, you’ll be a legend for this.”
I groaned again and covered my face with both hands.
“Mr. J,” Sophia said quietly, appearing with genuine concern in her eyes. “Are you okay? You look kind of pale.”
Her simple question seemed to snap the other students out of their hilarity. Suddenly, instead of laughing at my expense, they were rallying around me.
“Yeah, don’t worry about Mrs. Hartwell,” Madison said. “She freaks out about everything. Remember when she tried to ban the word ‘moist’ from being said in school?”
“Besides,” Julian added, his teasing tone replaced with something more protective, “if anyone gives you grief about this, we’ll set them straight. Mr. J, we got your back.”
The chorus of agreement from around the library made my throat tight with unexpected emotion. These kids—my students—they were defending me.
“Thanks, guys,” I said, my voice slightly rough. “That . . . that means a lot.”
“Just maybe warn us next time you’re gonna have a good night,” Trevor suggested with a grin. “We need time to prepare for the fallout.”
The explosion of laughter that followed nearly swept me away.
Nearly.
Students gradually returned to their research, though the occasional snicker and whispered retelling of the incident continued for the rest of the period; but instead of feeling mortified, I felt oddly grateful.
The kids didn’t just see me as their librarian, some weirdo who lived beneath a mountain of dusty tomes—they saw me as someone worth protecting.
By the time she left, Alexis had a pile of books and a much better understanding of how to find women’s voices in historical archives. I was grateful for the distraction from Julian’s teasing, though I noticed I was still catching myself smiling at random moments throughout the day.
I glanced up at the clock and was shocked to see it was already 2:30.
The day had flown by in a blur of research questions and impromptu lessons on source evaluation.
The final bell rang at 3:15, and as quickly as it had filled, the library emptied—except for the evidence of the day’s academic battlefield.
I normally insisted students take better care of the place, put books away, help file things; but there’d been no time.
I’d been in the zone. And now, I would pay the price for that inattention.
Books lay open on every table, notecards scattered like confetti, and at least three different research topics had apparently exploded across the reference section.
I slumped over the desk, exhausted.
My voice was hoarse from explaining the Dewey Decimal System for the hundredth time, and my feet ached from walking students through the stacks all day, but seeing their faces light up when they found exactly the source they needed, watching them go from panic to confidence as they learned to research—that made it worth it.
Still, the mountain of books that needed to be re-shelved before I could go home made me want to put my head down and take a nap right there on the counter.
I was contemplating whether I had the energy to tackle the biography section when my phone dinged with the familiar sound of a text message. A smile was parting my lips as I swiped my phone to life.
Postie: Hey you. Read any good books lately?