CHAPTER ONE
blesk
Is it too late to cancel?
This taxi smells of lavender air freshener and old upholstery, but it could smell of grated parmesan on dirty socks soaked in fish sauce, and I would still be stalling.
I blink up at the soaring red brick walls of my new university campus. The drop-off lane churns with movement, people crisscrossing the pathways and jogging around idling cars. Nerves flutter inside me.
This is not intimidating.
It’s not.
It’s just people peopling.
I can do this.
“Are you okay, Miss?”
I lift my gaze. The taxi driver is looking at me in the rear-view mirror. “Does this smile look natural or terrified?” I plaster on a smile.
“Um.” He shrugs. “Natural?”
Taking a deep breath, I open the passenger door. “Thank you,” I say to him. Before I’m swallowed by a swarm of first-year students, I head straight for the campus reception to drop off my luggage and guitar case.
Even though I know I should find my dorm room and face reality, I follow the signage on the footpaths towards the library. I told myself that I would makelivingfriends this year. The kind with a physical form, that can’t be snapped shut between book cheeks when they misbehave or upset me.
I pass under an arch and into the library. I've spent most of my teenage years between stacks of books, hiding with fictional people instead of dealing with real ones. The loud whirlwind outside gives way to a guaranteed quiet. It smells like leather and dust, which is significantly better than lavender, old upholstery, parmesan,anddirty feet.
I sigh. I already love it here.
Social Blesk can wait.
Bookish Blesk is in awe.
My dad texts me just as I slump down onto one of the many multicoloured beanbags scattered across the first floor.
Dad: Remember to call me. Remember you can come home and change your mind. Anytime.
I stare at the message for a moment, my thumb hovering over the reply button. I should thank him. I should tell him I’m fine. I should say something, but he isn’t sure I’m ready for this, and if I talk to him now, I may let him convince me. Instead, I lock the screen and tuck my phone into my bag.
My father means everything to me. He truly does. And my brother and I mean everything to him. I understand why he tried to keep me at home, why he didn’t let me have sleepovers or mingle too much with the outside world. I didn’t have a safe childhood, so when he took me in, he made it safe. He was like that before Mum died, and after, it only gotworse. So, after school, I just stayed home because it didn’t matter that much to me, anyway. I like my room and my books.
I’ve been alone, absorbing bookish energy, for exactly forty minutes when my spine straightens, my body sensing his approach.
“No one puts Bebe in the corner.” My brother’s favourite thing to say to me; aDirty Dancingreference I can’t seem to escape.
At the sound of his voice, my heart lifts and stutters all at once. That’s not unusual. I stopped being surprised by Erik’s sudden appearances years ago. He doesn’t need to be told where I am. He justknows.It’s comforting. It’s suffocating, sometimes. But I think I’d rather be suffocated by care than not have any at all.
“How’d I know I’d find you here?” He drops onto the beanbag beside mine, close enough that his shoulder presses against me. He doesn’t leave a gap.
“I didn’t tell you where I was,” I say quietly, without looking up, torn between leaning into his familiar warmth and shifting away.
“No,” he replies, not lowering his voice. He stretches his legs out and tilts his head back against the shelving. “You never do,” he adds easily. Like it’s nothing. Like the fact that he always finds me anyway is simply a feature of the world, unremarkable as wind or rain. Like I couldn’t escape him even if I wanted to.
I raise my finger to my lips. "Shh.I'm not sure if you've ever been in one of these before. It is called alibrary, and you're supposed to be quiet so people canreadthese things calledbooks.”
“Oh,books.” He chuckles. "Gotcha. So, how was the drive? Was the Taxi guy nice to you?”
