The Rebel and the Bookish – by Stephanie Scott #2
“We’re…very different people.” I cringe at my own words. “I don’t have anything to say.”
“You could say hello.” No smirk in sight, he just looks at me plainly.
Gah, right in the heart. I’ve been…unkind.
Ignoring him makes me come off like a jerk.
I’ve spent the last sixteen years imparting values to my children, most of all that kindness matters.
“I’m sorry?” It comes out as a question.
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say here.
So, I do what I do best, and blunder through a feasible explanation. “You’re…you’re Ian Heartbreak.”
Something changes in his expression. Instead of haughty confidence, he looks contemplative. Thoughtful. I don’t recall him ever looking thoughtful over much. But we’ve both lived a lifetime since high school.
His jet black hair is lighter now with gray at the sides. Grays and a smattering of stark white hairs thread through his beard scruff. His face is thinner, rougher, but weathered in a way that makes women curse men who age well. His energy is less chaotic but still a constant vibration.
He’s a freaking rock star and he invaded my library. I wish I could say I’m immune to his charms, but I’ve daydreamed about this. He and I. Here. Or other places.
He can never find out.
“My driver’s license still says Ian Kolacki. I’m the same kid who took short cuts through your back yard on my dirt bike and who bugged you every afternoon in the school library.”
“You caused my one and only detention.”
“Only one?”
“I didn’t deserve detention. It went on my permanent record!”
“And that matters now?”
“Actually, it does. I’m up for head librarian.”
“Wow. Congrats. And you think that singular detention in high school will keep you from ruling over the library?”
“Doreen Fisk is my boss. She chooses the next head librarian.”
His mouth drops. “Old Mrs. Fisk? She’s still alive?”
“She’s retiring, and yes. She is in control of whether I get this promotion.”
He runs a hand through his spiky hair. “She hated me in high school.”
“She lumped me in with you and your rowdy friends. I’ve been trying to prove my worth ever since.”
He laughs, but I just stare. He stops. “Are you serious? Val, that was like, going on thirty years ago. Who cares what that old woman thinks.”
“I do. I care. And I want this promotion.” The last thing I need is for her to find out I’m holed up in her precious library after hours with the troublemaker she despised all those years ago.
Which reminds me. “You never explained why you’re here and why you’re not panicked about being trapped.”
He scratches the back of his neck, which sends the bottom edge of his shirt riding up. The peek of skin is, well let’s just say it’s getting hot in here and the line from that Nelly song completes my thought. It involves taking off clothes. No. No, no, no. That is not where my thoughts will go.
“I needed to be out of the way. My kids are having friends over.”
Parent of the year over here. “Way to supervise your impressionable, young children.”
His kids are another reason I’ve been ignoring him. I won’t dump on his kids, that’s not fair, but they have a reputation of being loosely parented, and well, not the greatest influence. Ignoring him is doing my due diligence as a mother.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. They’re fifteen and seventeen. They need space to grow. They have intense creativity and a zest for life.”
“Parenting is not an Iggy Pop song.”
He raises a brow. “You know your music references.”
“I know a lot of things.”
He looks at me for a beat. “Do you really think I’m a bad father?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He looks away. “You didn’t have to.”
Ian
I knew it. Valerie thinks I’m just as screwed up as ever. That saying you can never truly go back home? Bollocks. You can go back home, but you can never escape who you were.
The real truth is reputations last longer than any career in music.
I’m doing my best to be there for my kids. It’s my number one goal right now. I’m physically there, every day. Every day except for this moment where my kids asked me to leave them alone for a few hours. Our neighbor is keeping tabs on the house. I wouldn’t totally leave them without a lookout.
A thought strikes me. “Why aren’t you trying to open the door?”
“What? I can’t. It’s locked.”
“Yeah, but you gave up trying. And you’re not calling anyone.”
“I don’t have cell service down here.” She looks everywhere but me. “Why aren’t you calling anyone?”
“I told you. I’m giving my kids space.”
“And you didn’t have anywhere else to go but the library?”
“You make it sound like an insult. You’re here on a Friday night past closing, in the basement with a card catalog that lacks any dust whatsoever and a computer artifact that—wait, is that thing on?”
She snatches the ancient mouse from my reach. The desktop computer screen flickers. She minimized whatever was up.
“Just old files and things.”
“You were working on something?”
“It’s not important. Anyway, I can’t believe the Ian Heartbreak is lurking in the depths of the Derby library. If I posted this online, no one would believe it.”
“I’m not famous anymore.”
She snorts. It’s adorable. “Yes, you are. You have tons of fans. My…”
“What?”
She keeps doing this, like she starts to say something and then changes her mind. She’s nervous around me, but it’s not playful. It’s bothered and irritated. I don’t like it. But it’s a dislike I feel responsibility for.
I need to clear the air. First, my kids. “So, my kids have a lot of energy. I was the same way at their age. I finally got my act together. ADHD—who knew? I figured it out when my kids were diagnosed. Back in our day, we weren’t screened for it. Just got labeled as disruptive.
Learning why I am the way I am helps me understand my kids better. I know it doesn’t make up for the years I wasn’t around, but we’re working on it.
“And their mom? Where is she in all this?”
“She does her best, but right now she’s focused on her own parents who are experiencing some big health issues. She was desperate for help. Here I thought sending money and staying out of their way was the best for the kids and for my ex. I guess it wasn’t, and that’s on me, but I’m trying.”
She slumps into a chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know all that was going on. Your kids are doing okay?”
“Yeah, I think so. We’ve gotten close the past few years.
I doubt I’m doing this whole parenting thing right, but my kids trust me.
It took time. They don’t hate being around me, so that’s a good sign, huh?
When they asked me to go find something else to do tonight while they had friends over, I told them sure, but I could be back at any time for a soundcheck.
Sadly, they never laugh at my band jokes.
Anyway, here I am.” He laughs. “Pretty pathetic.”
She presses her lips together. Maybe she doesn’t care a lick about my kids or my life, but I had to let her know my kids are not the problem. If she’s got a problem with anyone, let it be me, not them.
Speaking of. “I’m sorry you felt invisible around me. Back then. I didn’t know.” I realize how that sounds. That I didn’t know because I didn’t notice her. But it’s not that. “I did notice you. My own parents didn’t come to my shows, but you did. You came. I noticed every time.”
“Your parents never watched you play?”
“Not my high school band. When the Stone Hearts played St. Andrews Hall in Detroit, I got them tickets. They worked a lot and aren’t real into music.” I shrug. “I guess that’s why I’m such an attention hog with everyone else.”
I can tell my apology isn’t landing. “You were tough to crack. I couldn’t impress you with academics and I wasn’t a jock.
I thought if I could make you laugh maybe, but I guess that didn’t work either.
Me and my friends ended up just disturbing your study time.
I don’t know. You were out of my league. ”
She bursts out one staccato laugh. “Me? Out of your league? We didn’t even orbit the same planet in high school.”
“If anything, I was your moon. A distant one trying to get a rotation in—sorry, this metaphor isn’t my best. You were a class act, Valerie. I had no idea how to act around a girl like you when I was sixteen. Seventeen it got worse—I had a guitar and thought I knew everything.”
She traces the edge of a random paperback on the table beside her. “I wasn’t your type.”
Ian Heartbreak is a persona I invented for stage.
It’s ridiculous. It’s the exaggerated me, not the guy who’s sitting in public library storage.
“What I’m saying is, I’m sorry for being a jerk in high school.
I’m sorry if I’ve been a jerk as a parent.
You avoid me for a reason, so I’m hoping I can acknowledge that.
And sorry I haven’t joined the PTA. If it helps to know, I’m waiting at home every day after school when my kids get home. ”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you think I’m a screw up.”
She studies me. “Are you censoring yourself around me? I recall you highly enjoy dropping F-bombs.”
“You said Bob Saget when you kicked the door.”
She gasps. “You heard that?”
“Sure did. I blew my cover. You found me a few minutes later in the bathroom. Hiding like a coward.”
“What were you planning to do? Stay there all night?”
“I don’t tend to think that far ahead. My only thought was not getting busted for snooping.”
“What did you think you’d find down here?”
“These beautiful card catalogs for starters. Hidden tomes or hidden tombs . A treasure chest filled with banned books. Maybe Sloth from Goonies . All the things I imagined as a kid that might be living beneath the library.”
She smooths her hands against her thighs. She’s wearing a casual black skirt over thick tights and Mary Jane style Doc Martens. It’s a late Gen X throwback that’s less her looking like she’s trying hard, and more that she found a style that works and stuck with it.
“Why are you down here? And don’t just say the book sale.”