Chapter 1
20 Years Before Present Day
Isaac
“Here’s your decaf hazelnut latte.”
I still, my fingers a few inches away from the to-go cup. “Did you say decaf?”
“Sure did,” the chipper student employee at the library’s café says, already turning away to craft the next drink order. “Enjoy.”
“Wait, I didn’t ask for decaf.”
“Yes, you did,” she retorts, tapping the side of the cup where my supposed order is scrawled. “Says so right here.”
“Yeah, no, I see that,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “But I can promise you the worddecafhas never willingly passed my lips unless in answer to the questionwhat’s the most pointless thing you’ve ever put down your throat?This is a mistake.”
She heaves a sigh, as if I’m causing her morning shift to take a brisk downward spiral, when I’m most certain it’smymorning undergoing some kind of cruel cosmic joke.
First, it was the blown tire on my bike that necessitated me walking to campus today, making my already long commute even longer than normal. Second was the vehicle that drove through a puddle right next to me, splashing questionably murky water all down my pant leg and into my shoe. For therecord, wet socks are second only to decaffeinated coffee. Third was the call I received from my father informing me of an important business dinner I’m to attend this weekend as his poised and dutiful son.
Spoiler alert, thisdutifulson will be conveniently absent.
Needless to say, it’s only six-thirty in the morning, and I’ve already had enough.
“Please,” I beg the café worker. “I need caffeine today. Could you remake the drink?”
She sighs again but grabs a new cup, which I take to mean my salvation is close at hand. I thank her, looking around the library as I wait. This early in the morning, it’s mostly empty. Which, for me, makes it absolutely perfect. The house I share with my best friend Todd and a few undergrads is always either loud, in the planning, prep, or active stages of a party, or smells like a truly horrific combination of desperation and body odor. Often all three at once.
Whereas the library?
It’s quiet, peaceful, and filled with light near the tables but shrouded in an air of curiosity and shadows the further down the stacks you go. Like an entire world is waiting to be discovered if you care enough to try. Of course, the internet has made the library obsolete for most students. But that’s what makes it my preferred spot to study before class.
And my table? The one all my own?
It’s tucked into a corner on the third floor, hidden away behind a stack of old cassette tapes. No one ventures that way. No one.
Hence—perfection.
The promise of a morning spent all alone buoys my spirits as I wait for my latte to be finished. Finally, it’s set before me with a wan smile and a lackluster, “Have a nice day.” I returnthe sentiment before grabbing my drink, the outside hot even with the protective sleeve. I’m halfway to the stairwell when I take my first sip…and come to a dead stop.
That is 100%, no doubt about it, decaf.
With a frustrated growl under my breath, I stomp forward and tug the door to the stairwell open a little harder than purely necessary. It shuts behind me with a clang.
Huffing, I make my way up to the third floor, past the study space with couches and easily accessible tables, past the many stacks of books and periodicals, and even past a very old librarian who goes by Bev. I’ve just managed to calm down a modicum when I enter the familiar row of cassette tapes and spot someone sitting at my table.
Mytable.
I sputter for all of a second before my brain kicks into gear. “You’re in my spot,” I tell the guy.
He turns slowly, his upper body twisting to take me in, his form dwarfing the chair in a way I’d find funny if I weren’t so utterly indignant. A dark eyebrow rises before he says, calm as can be, “I didn’t see your name anywhere.”
“My…mynamedoesn’t have to be on the table for it to be mine.”
He regards me for a moment before turning back around. “Then how would anyone know?”
My mouth opens and closes a couple times. “It’s justmine.”
