librarian without much thought, but for some reason, I have no problem saying, “Uh, I’m looking for the periodicals?”
Dawsyn clucks his tongue as he pushes his cart forward a few feet. “Periodicals you say. You sure you don’t want some girly fiction novel?” He grabs another book from the cart, flips it over in his hands, sets it back down and then reaches for another.
“Nope, I need the periodicals. Know where I can find them?”
Another book from the cart squeezes onto the shelf about half way up. “They’re up on the second floor, next to the art section.”
I give Dawsyn a nod and push past him and his cart full of books. When I reach the end of the row, I take a left.
“Other way,” he calls. “Here, wait up and I’ll show you personally.”
His steps are fast, jeans brushing together making a rubbing sound as he approaches me. Even the chain holding his wallet in place jingles. You’d be able to hear him coming from a mile away, that’s for sure.
I turn the other direction and fall easily into step with him as he takes me down another long, narrow hallway-like enclosure. The silence between us doesn’t feel awkward to me, but with a few quick glances in his direction, I can tell Dawsyn thinks otherwise. His mouth opens and closes as though he’s going to start a sentence but thinks better of it.
“So do you, uh, work here?” I must say, Willard Grove is full of nice, if not slightly strange people. Allison wasted no time handing over her number, and Dawsyn stopped his work to give me a personal tour.
He scoffs. “Work at a library? What am I, some kind of geek?”
“I don’t know, are you?” I ask with a grin, noting the fact that he was putting books from a cart back onto the shelf. Rather obvious, I think.
“Far from it. But yes, I do...work here.” He shakes his head. His hand reaches up and scrapes through his short brown hair. “Community service,” he adds.
I nod with approval. I know a thing or two about community service. After the graffiti incident, when I pretty much got caught red-handed, I had to clean a stretch of highway. I felt like a convict, plastic bag, garbage spear and florescent orange vest. It was enough to keep me straight. Heck, smelling like a trashcan was more than I could handle, too.
A shiver spreads over my body just thinking about it.
“So, not a geek but a delinquent. Even better. Maybe I should be finding the periodicals myself. I wouldn’t want to become a known associate.”
“You’re safe. I don’t think they’d think that, you being new in town and all.”
I grab the railing of a grand staircase and follow Dawsyn. He takes the steps two at a time. I have to scramble to keep up. “Is it really that obvious?”
“There are less than two-hundred kids at the high school, most of them I’ve known all my life. So, yeah, it’s that obvious. And not many people come to the library, especially during spring break.”
I groan inwardly as I reach the top of the stairs. I hate being new. Worse, I hate small towns. It’s like I have a new girl stamp on my forehead I can’t seem to wash off.
“So, what exactly are you looking for?” Dawsyn veers off to the right.
“I need some information...about the house I live in,” I say as I follow him down another row of books.
Abruptly, he stops at the end of the long corridor. I step beside him. In front of us, lining the back wall of the library’s second floor are countless cabinets, each numbered with a block of years. Dawsyn motions with his hand at the metal lined wall. “And why’s that?”
Though I can’t tell him the whole truth, that a ghostboy I’ve named Oakley lives in my room, I could tell him what little I know, in hopes he can help. But I choose not to. “It’s an old house, probably has some really great history.”
Dawsyn rocks back on his heels and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Uh huh. Well, here you are.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What, you don’t
Dawsyn clucks his tongue as he pushes his cart forward a few feet. “Periodicals you say. You sure you don’t want some girly fiction novel?” He grabs another book from the cart, flips it over in his hands, sets it back down and then reaches for another.
“Nope, I need the periodicals. Know where I can find them?”
Another book from the cart squeezes onto the shelf about half way up. “They’re up on the second floor, next to the art section.”
I give Dawsyn a nod and push past him and his cart full of books. When I reach the end of the row, I take a left.
“Other way,” he calls. “Here, wait up and I’ll show you personally.”
His steps are fast, jeans brushing together making a rubbing sound as he approaches me. Even the chain holding his wallet in place jingles. You’d be able to hear him coming from a mile away, that’s for sure.
I turn the other direction and fall easily into step with him as he takes me down another long, narrow hallway-like enclosure. The silence between us doesn’t feel awkward to me, but with a few quick glances in his direction, I can tell Dawsyn thinks otherwise. His mouth opens and closes as though he’s going to start a sentence but thinks better of it.
“So do you, uh, work here?” I must say, Willard Grove is full of nice, if not slightly strange people. Allison wasted no time handing over her number, and Dawsyn stopped his work to give me a personal tour.
He scoffs. “Work at a library? What am I, some kind of geek?”
“I don’t know, are you?” I ask with a grin, noting the fact that he was putting books from a cart back onto the shelf. Rather obvious, I think.
“Far from it. But yes, I do...work here.” He shakes his head. His hand reaches up and scrapes through his short brown hair. “Community service,” he adds.
I nod with approval. I know a thing or two about community service. After the graffiti incident, when I pretty much got caught red-handed, I had to clean a stretch of highway. I felt like a convict, plastic bag, garbage spear and florescent orange vest. It was enough to keep me straight. Heck, smelling like a trashcan was more than I could handle, too.
A shiver spreads over my body just thinking about it.
“So, not a geek but a delinquent. Even better. Maybe I should be finding the periodicals myself. I wouldn’t want to become a known associate.”
“You’re safe. I don’t think they’d think that, you being new in town and all.”
I grab the railing of a grand staircase and follow Dawsyn. He takes the steps two at a time. I have to scramble to keep up. “Is it really that obvious?”
“There are less than two-hundred kids at the high school, most of them I’ve known all my life. So, yeah, it’s that obvious. And not many people come to the library, especially during spring break.”
I groan inwardly as I reach the top of the stairs. I hate being new. Worse, I hate small towns. It’s like I have a new girl stamp on my forehead I can’t seem to wash off.
“So, what exactly are you looking for?” Dawsyn veers off to the right.
“I need some information...about the house I live in,” I say as I follow him down another row of books.
Abruptly, he stops at the end of the long corridor. I step beside him. In front of us, lining the back wall of the library’s second floor are countless cabinets, each numbered with a block of years. Dawsyn motions with his hand at the metal lined wall. “And why’s that?”
Though I can’t tell him the whole truth, that a ghostboy I’ve named Oakley lives in my room, I could tell him what little I know, in hopes he can help. But I choose not to. “It’s an old house, probably has some really great history.”
Dawsyn rocks back on his heels and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Uh huh. Well, here you are.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What, you don’t
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