Zelda
The silence in the library is usually comfortable. Welcoming.
Today it feels like a wool blanket in the height of summer. I want it off. I want to do something crazy, like strip off all my clothes and run through a sprinkler.
But alas, my job at the library doesn’t involve sprinklers or running or even speaking in a normal tone of voice. The building echoes. The books do nothing to deaden the sound.
I straighten my back and peer at the screen as if I’m working on something important. I should be working on something important, but we’re in a lull. No more returned books to scan. No patrons demanding my assistance. Nothing.
The computer’s mouse calls to me.
Just click over to the Internet browser, it says. Just look up your favorite blog. Nobody is watching.
It’s not like me, to think so much about misbehaving. I work at the library. That’s not who I am. I’m a grad student. A professional. A good citizen, and a good daughter. I came back home to live at my parents’ house for grad school because I am responsible. I do the right thing.
I do not look at gossip blogs when I’m supposed to be shelving books or monitoring the computer lab.
But nobody’s in the big main hallway by the checkout desk, which means I can let my straight-backed librarian persona slip a little bit.
It’s almost six. Nobody should be in the offices behind me. My heart kicks up a little bit. I know, I know. It’s not much of a transgression. It still feels like enough of one to bring the adrenaline speeding through my veins.
I open the browser.
It’s Wednesday, so there’s not much breaking news, although one starlet made quite the exit from a club in Miami.
On a Tuesday night.
I put my chin in my hand. Out that late on a Tuesday night, wearing something skintight and short and red.
The closest I ever got to that kind of scene was in college, and that was three years ago.
Also, it wasn’t some hot club in Miami, it was the basement floor of a college town bar made up to look like a dance club for New Year’s Eve.
I definitely didn’t leave that night with my legs wrapped around the waist of some other celebrity’s husband.
I bite my lip and scroll through the blog more slowly. What would it be like, to be that naughty? To be doing it in front of a camera while the flash goes off in your face? To not care at all?
“Highly inappropriate, Ms. Montgomery.” The voice comes cutting across the desk, and I jump, my heart in my throat. If it’s Mrs. Sanders, I’m screwed.
I fumble at the keyboard, fingers finding the keystrokes to close the browser window and clear the history, and I look straight up into the eyes of—
My best friend, Carly Miller.
“Jesus.” My hand goes to my chest. “You gave me a heart attack.”
She laughs, her dark curls shaking, and leans on the counter, hands cupping her face. “Anything good today?”
“Not really.” I’m not willing to get caught fantasizing about being some Hollywood starlet getting drunk and wild at a club and…and what? Making out with someone at least as hot as she is?
“Bummer,” she says. “Well, it’s Wednesday. I bet even the celebs stayed home last night.”
“Most of them, I guess.”
Her eyes sparkle. “You know what? We shouldn’t stay home. In fact, we should go out.”
“Let me guess—you already have a whole set of plans that you haven’t bothered to tell me about.”
“But these ones are good,” she says, looking over her shoulder like she’s about to impart a state secret.
“I’ve got an invite to a gallery opening in the city.
It’s like—” She lowers her voice. “It’s like, erotic art.
” Her eyes are wide, excited. It’s not like Carly lacks for erotic encounters, but she likes anything that’s out of the ordinary.
And in Greenville, an erotic art gallery would not be found on the main street.
“What’s the catch?” Aside from the fact that I don’t think I could look at erotic art with a straight face, free of blushing, there must be something that she’s not telling me.
“We have to leave right now if we’re going to make it on time.”
My heart sinks. I don’t cut shifts. The stuffy library air scrapes against my skin. “I can’t, Carly. I have two hours left in my shift.”
From a short distance down the hall, someone clears her throat. Loudly.
It’s Mrs. Sanders passing through with a stack of folders tucked up in her arms. She disappears into an office down the hall, scolding me with nothing but the power of her eyes. Mrs. Sanders does not look kindly upon chatting during your shift.
“God. What a jerk.” Carly shifts her weight from foot to foot. “Think she’d let you skip out early?”
“No,” I sigh. “Not a chance. But have fun without me.”
Carly shakes her head. “When are you going to get some balls?”
“Don’t be gross.”
“Fine. But you’re missing out.”
“I know.”
“I’ll tell you all about it!” She straightens up from the counter and tugs her purse up and over her shoulder. “No regrets, Zel!”
Her words ring in my ears as I stand up from the chair and go back to the checkout station. Add this regret to the list.