“Do you happen to know of any places I might be able to work part-time while I’m not at school?” I asked.
He thought for a moment before answering, “Unfortunately, our part-time position is filled, otherwise I would ask you to work here so that you could be the one to watch over the teen section. However, I believe there’s a position open for aftercare counselors at the community center next door.”
I smirked. “No getting out of reading for you, Mr. Librarian.”
Kids. I could do kids. God, I hoped they weren’t super young. I did not want to be responsible for someone’s three year old.
Cal chose that moment to finally return with the other box of books. It was obvious by the smug smile on her face that she had taken her sweet time on purpose.
“Here we go!” She huffed as she placed the box next to the other at my feet. “We better get going. There’s still lots of unpacking to do.”
No, there wasn’t.
“Wait,” the librarian said holding up his hand. “Would you like for me to write you a receipt for all of these? Every penny counts during tax returns.”
Cal waved him off. “That’s okay. It wouldn’t be a donation if we got something out of it, now would it? It was nice meeting you.”
Cal began to pull me away when I was swamped with a wave of sadness as leaving the boxes became all too real for me. I knew the books wouldn’t technically be going anywhere beyond the library and back, but that didn't mean I would likely see them again. Some of the books in those boxes got me through the worst time of my life and leaving them behind…it was like leaving behind a part of myself.
Feeling the burn of tears forming in my eyes, I quickly shot a glance between my books and the man that would now be their keeper.
“Take care of them for me,” I said, my voice cracking a bit.
I didn't see judgment or confusion in his eyes, only a genuine understanding in those deep brown eyes that stared right through to my soul.
Without a word, he nodded and I turned away from him and the boxes. I took a deep breath, reminding myself to keep it together. By the time we had gotten in the truck I was able to bury my sorrow deep into its own special little hole and my mood was almost passible as content.
On the way out of the parking lot, I flinched when our engine backfired. “Time for Dad to give Old Yeller a tune-up, it seems.”
“Don’t you try to change the subject, girl. I want deets. I did not stand out in the cold to give you two some alone time to hear about this rusty old bucket,” Cal chided, her grin wide.
I gaped at her for a moment before slapping her leg. “I knew it! You left me alone on purpose! How could you do that?!”
“He was cute,” She shrugged. “and I saw the way you looked at him. Besides Atty, I haven’t seen that side of you in months, at least around anyone but Dad and I. How you stood up to him, all ‘I’m about to prove you wrong, biatch!’. I wasn’t about to just get in the middle of that spark.”
I couldn’t help the blush that burned its way up my neck and across my cheeks. Curling myself up onto the bench seat, I clutched my knees closer to my chest.
“That was pretty great, wasn’t it?” I said, my voice a little breathless.
“Hell yes!”
My small smile grew wider as I stared at her. I loved my sister. With her only being a year and a half older than me, we had always been close. She was the one who had kept our family together these past few years. The one who had slowly picked up the pieces of Dad and I, gluing them back together until we resembled people again.
She turned to me. “Hey, let’s go give you a make over, celebrate your re-found badassery!”
I blanched, hardly daring to imagine what she might have in mind.
“Oh, nothing too drastic! Unfortunately, we don’t have enough money at the moment for that. Maybe some box dye, and I can get you some new earrings. I know the holes have mostly closed but it should’t be too bad. What do you say?”
I absentmindedly ran my fingers over the small holes in my right ear. In one of our last locations, I had been attending a prep school and it was a lot easier to blend in when I wasn’t all pierced up. So, I took most of them out, only keeping the small barb in my left brow. It would be nice to have at least that little bit of myself back after having to give up my books today.
I nodded enthusiastically. “Okay! Just not green. I do not think green would look good with my hair.”
“I was thinking purple.”
Chapter Three
Percy
I watched as the two girls drove away in a beat up blue pickup truck, the engine backfiring like a gunshot. I turned and headed back towards my desk, which was now covered in books and blocked off by the two boxes the girls had left on the floor.
It had certainly not been an encounter I had expected today. The town of Argos did have its share of tourists during the warm seasons, thanks in part to the mayor’s efforts, but on a Tuesday morning in the middle of winter? I couldn’t decide if it was pleasant to see fresh faces enter my perpetually empty domain or a nuisance as I picked up one of the boxes they had left and brought it into my office.
The room, like the rest of the library—if not darker—was sparsely lit and probably would have been a pain for a normal human to navigate without bumping into the piles of books. They were stacked up in just about every corner and free surface besides my personal desk which was free of books, although piled high with paperwork. Looking around, I opted to just place the box on top of the papers, smooshing the pile down.
Sighing, I looked around. “I’ll clean next week.”
It wasn’t necessarily dirty per se, but it was dusty and perhaps a bit unorganized. My library assistant, Jason, would beg to differ as he was a bit of a perfectionist, but that’s why I kept him around: to organize the rest of the library. Not my office.
Opening the box, I peered inside only to shake my head and break out into a grin. It was full of fantasy and romance books, the exact kind I would have expected a girl like her to have. Though, she played me well with that first box.
My cheeks began to ache as the muscles for smiling were so rarely used as I continued to stare at the books. I picked them up out of the box and slowly examined them one by one; they were clearly well loved and cared for. I had to wonder why she was getting rid of them. It had been obvious by the look on her face as she had been leaving that these books meant a great deal to her.
Picking up a particularly worn one, I opened it to the title page and was shocked to see that it was signed by the author.
“To The Girl With No Name,
I hope this book brings you the inspiration
to keep moving forward.
- Jamie Addams”
“The girl with no name,” I muttered as I ran my fingers along the words transcribed by the author.
Carefully, I placed the book down and picked up another one. This one was not signed, neither was the next one I pulled from the box. Going on a hunch, I pulled out one that looked more worn than the others, and I was correct, as the inside was signed by the author, again addressed to: The Girl With No Name.