I laughed, which helped calm my nerves a little, and her face blossomed into a stunning grin. She was referring to a paranormal historical series of books by Lisa Montgomery, and that was when I decided we would be BFF’s—bookish friends forever. Yes, not only am I awkward when I’m nervous, but apparently I also think like I’m twelve.
“I can’t find my nametag,” Nicole said and shoved a hand into her enormous purse.
I widened my stance in case she fell inside and needed to be rescued, but sooner than I could’ve imagined finding anything in there, she pulled out her nametag.
“I thought Jimmy ate it,” she said, flicking her green gaze up to mine while she attached her name to her top.
“Jimmy Hoffa?”
She snorted out a nervous laugh and pointed to her bag. “Jimmy is my pet turtle.”
“Oh.” Of course. She’d brought a turtle with her?
A young woman with exotically angled eyes and a nose ring sauntered up to us. Her glossy black hair had been shaved on one side so it flopped over the other and down one shoulder. Colorful tattoos unfurled over her golden skin and scrolled up both arms beneath the sleeves of her white T-shirt and plaid vest. She had taken the stereotypical librarian image and stomped on it with enormous combat boots that went up to her knees.
Sometimes I wished I had the courage to look like that. Other times, I preferred the subtly unconventional librarian. After all, how many others were wearing a black silk thong that read Shh! across the crotch? Probably more than I cared to know about, but still.
The woman let her gaze roam over the building like a loving caress. “I’m totally nerding out right now.”
Nicole and I grinned. Every time I met someone who shared my passion, it kind of amazed me. Before I quit high school and earned my GED, I was the freak outcast who read at the lunch table, and it wasn’t until graduate school that I finally met other like-minded people, including Kay. If only I’d met her years earlier, then maybe high school wouldn’t have been such a struggle. Doubtful, but maybe.
A number of other people, mostly females, joined us on the steps, including a boy who looked like he’d barely passed puberty.
“Ladies,” the boy said and looked at each of us, his gaze lingering several beats past uncomfortable on me.
Had I unknowingly slapped a sticky note on my forehead with the wordsI’ll be your cougar—Rawwwr!on my forehead that only males with fewer birthdays than me could see?
His crisp-ironed suit and Hollywood smile made me think he was destined for political office rather than librarian.
“I’m Doug,” he said with a wink.
His name even sounded political.
“Paige,” I said, just to be polite.
“Are we in the right place?” a young woman clutching a tissue asked timidly, but at the same time, the wooden door behind us burst open.
A woman of about forty stood just inside dressed in a smart pant suit and high heels. At leastthree-inchhigh heels. The twinkle in her dark eyes gave no indication that she suffered in painful silence.
“Youarein the right place, and on behalf of the entire staff, I’d like to welcome our Junior Fellows summer interns into the Jefferson Building of the Library of Congress,” she said.
She held the door while we filed inside with murmured thank-yous, and I breathed in one hundred seventeen years of history. The entire library housed approximately thirty-six million books. While I didn’t see any of them yet, that familiar, slightly musty paper and ink smell seeped from the grand arches and the rich, symbolic artwork decorating the walls. I held it in my lungs, treasured it, willed it to settle into my pores forever. Walking inside was similar to the first time I’d ever been here when I was seven—with complete awe and a sense of home.
Next to me in the entryway, Nicole appeared just as transfixed. A wide, dreamy grin stretched her mouth as she searched the painted ceiling of the cavernous room with teary eyes. I’d bet everything inside her parachute bag, including Jimmy the turtle, that this was her life-long ambition, too.
“I’m Janice Brown, Head of the Rare Book and Special Collections Division,” the high-heeled wonder said. “Before we get to know each other and take a tour, we’ll need to check you and your bags through security.” She gestured to a tall, uniformed man standing in front of a metal detector behind her. “This is William, a U.S. Capitol policeman, and he’ll be checking you in and out. Ready, William?”
William gave a sharp nod, his gaze skittering to Nicole before he began barking directions. “Bags on the conveyor belt. Step through the metal detector one at a time, please.”
Nicole clutched her bag while a shade of red that matched her hair bloomed all over her face.
“You okay?” I asked. “Do you know him or something?”
“Not...” She blinked. “No.”
“He was just checking you out.”
Somehow her face burned even brighter. “I doubt it.”
