As I finished playing gopher each day for the various directors and teachers at the academy, I always found myself drawn back toward the library. After being employed for a few months, there was an unspoken understanding that this was where I’d be when my to-do list was exhausted. Even Headmaster Hopkirk couldn’t find fault in me being here, but he certainly enjoyedchecking upon me unannounced—like he hoped to catch me doing something nefarious.
It wasn’t like the school harbored a secret section of erotica and tantric sex books—not that I would indulge in something like that during the workday. My personal collection at home was far more gratifying than anything hiding in these stacks.
There was something so satisfying about using the outdated Dewey Decimal system or cracking open a dusty, old hardback that still carried the smell of yellowing paper and stale air. I’d willingly deal with the side-eye looks from the headmaster and lead librarian if it meant spending my free time here.
“Okay. Um. I’m sorry, Miss James. I didn’t mean to bend the book—or drop it. I’m done looking, so I’ll leave. Quietly. Bye.” He turned back to me and waved sheepishly, pivoting to the double doors that lead toward the eighth-grade hallway.
“Hey. Wait a second,” I said, following as he breezed past the non-fiction shelves. “Would you like to check this one out?It’s one of my favorites. Or I could recommend one with more dragons. Perhaps a series about time travel?”
“Um,” he stuttered, pointing to the book in my hand and digging his toe into the carpet. “I’d like to check that out, please.”
“Well, come on, then.” I waved him to the counter, shaking my head as I thought about the lead media specialist who believed her purpose in life was to strike fear into the hearts of all who entered her sacred space—also known as thelibrary. How could she instill a love of reading when the kids were afraid to touch the books?
He passed over his school identification card when we got to the front, and I logged into the computer, scanning the barcode and smiling as he reached for the paperback. Before I gave it back, I ran my fingers along the title and opened the book to the middle, cracking the spine.
Sacrilege—I know—but a part of me hoped this conversation would stick with him—giving him a better love of reading than any boring lecture could.
The boy sucked in a breath, eyes wide, and stared. “Books are meant to be read and well-used.”
I winked as he took the story from me with a small smile, running his finger along the crease in the spine. I’d like to think I made a difference, and he’d be back for the second book in the series next week, but he could just be imagining what Mrs. Bryce would do when she saw the devastating wrinkle.
“Head on to class, Vince.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I shook my head, watching him leave before peeking into the librarian’s office. She was leaning close to her computer screen, glasses perched on her head, and her finger clicking away on the mouse. Satisfied I could get away with another hour of putting away returned books and wandering the corridors, I turned toward the spiral staircase leading to the second floor.
Later that afternoon, I paused in the hallway past the cafeteria with a red apple partway to my lips, straightening my shoulders when I recognized the voice behind me.
“Miss James.”
“Headmaster Hopkirk,” I said, spinning around with the apple behind my back as he perused my appearance.
The black pants and green button-up blouse I’d thrown on this morning felt ridiculously casual compared to his charcoal gray, pinstripe, three-piece suit. His black leather shoes were polished to such a shine that I was sure my reflection would peer back at me if I got too close. Meanwhile, my black ballet flats still had a scuff from last week when I’d accidentally tripped in the parking lot.
It wasn’t even my fault—how was I supposed to know the landscapers would be there, and bushels of pine straw would be stacked throughout the staff lot? Everybody knew pine straw was the most idiotic thing to use as mulch because it was so flammable—not that anyone bothered to listen to my ramblings about the state of the shrubbery.
“My office. If you will, Miss James.”
He nodded once before taking a pocket watch out of his vest and opening it. He clicked his tongue like I was keeping him from some essential administrative task and walked away, not bothering to turn to ensure I followed.
Of course, I’ll follow, Mr. Headmaster, sir.
I felt like a kid being sent to the principal’s office—heck, Iwasbeing summoned to the principal’s office, and I scrambled, thinking of any indiscretions I’d had these last weeks.
My dresses were all below the knee, and my pantsuits matched. My hair lacked its typical chunky platinum highlights, instead opting for a darker honey-bronze, and my nails were a dull pink. I’d been late once but was 95 percent positive I snuck in the back door without anyone noticing.
After I wasaskedto leave my last job, my father swept in from the sidelines, pulling what he claimed was an astronomical number of strings to get me a provisional contract at one of the most prestigious private schools in South Carolina. I couldn’t let him down, not again, so I kept my head high as I followed the headmaster to his office, determined to impress the man who held my future between his well-manicured fingers.
“Tea?” he asked, rolling a silver cart next to the wing-back leather I’d perched on and motioning to the kettle.
“Thank you.” I laid the apple on the corner of his desk and opted for a bag of the oolong, finding it the least offensive of all the caffeinated dirt water offered, before proceeding to add three cubes of sugar.
Cubes,because simple packets of sugar damaged the integrity of the tea—or so he’d once said. I finished by adding a lemon wedge, then stared at the cream and debated adding enough to drown out the flavor of the tea and give me enough gastrointestinal distress to excuse me for the rest of the afternoon and get me far away from this conversation.
“Cream?” he asked, motioning to the cup and saucer that had my attention. If he knew my allergy to lactose, he wouldn’t have offered it unless he was playing some sick practical joke. But some part of me still wanted to reach for the offered saucer, knowing I’d be running out of the room in desperate search of an antacid within five minutes.
What was I so afraid of?
