Page 2 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

Ms. Thorn nods. “Have you ever read her shorter works?”

“Not yet.”

“You should. Lady Susan is a gem. I’ll set a copy aside for you next week.”

“Thank you.” I mean it. The library has always felt like the one place where I’m entirely understood.

At the entrance, she pauses and studies me. “It’s Friday night,” she says lightly. “Shouldn’t you be at the football game?”

“Not a chance,” I reply a little too fast.

She laughs, clearly unconvinced, and the sound fades behind me as I step through the sliding glass doors and into the night.

The air is cool and sharp, nothing like the cocoon I’ve just left behind.

The campus looks different after a game. Paper cups tumble along the sidewalks, caught in the wind like nervous little ghosts. Green and white banners snap from the light poles. Somewhere nearby, a marching-band melody repeats in broken pieces, carried unevenly through the trees. Even the air smells louder. It feels like walking through someone else’s celebration.

Thankfully, stadium lights cut white paths through the dark, bright enough to make the whole campus feel awake. Somewhere behind me, I’m sure the football players are slamming lockers shut, shouting over coaches, and reliving every touchdown like the entire campus didn’t already hear it happen.

Football has never been my thing. The noise, the crowds, the way everyone seems to move as one… it all feels like too much.

I prefer quiet corners. Places where stories are easier to read than people.

My parents always encouraged books over parties, biographies over gossip. Teachers, both of them. Their love of learning was a gift I appreciated. Their complete disinterest in socializing… less so. It left me far more comfortable with fictional characters than with the very real crowd pouring out of the stadium on a Friday night.

The path to Parking Lot C is nearly deserted, which tells me the final whistle blew a while ago. Most of the crowd has already migrated toward dorm rooms, local hangouts, or whatever postgame celebration promises the most noise. The football team’s after-parties have a reputation, but I’ve perfected the art of avoiding them.

Usually.

Tonight, as my car comes into view beneath a flickering streetlight, distant laughter carries through the air. Bottles clink. Someone shouts triumphantly. I tighten my grip on my bag and pick up my pace.

“Hey, isn’t that Library Girl?”

My stomach drops.

I keep walking, eyes locked on my car, willing the distance to close faster.

“What’s the rush, Library Girl?” another voice calls, louder now. “Come join the party!”

I finally reach my car, slip inside, and fumble with my keys, my pulse thudding loud enough to drown out the voices behind me. The engine cranks once. Twice.

Then dies.

There’s a sudden, terrible silence.

No.

Not tonight.

With a resigned sigh, I pop the hood and step out, phone already in hand. I shine the flashlight into the engine bay, scanning for… something. Anything. I don’t know what I’m looking for, which feels like an important flaw in this plan.

“Need some help?”

I jump, yelping as the phone slips from my grip. The light swings wildly before landing on a face that looks familiar, but not enough to place. Strong jaw. Easy smile. Broad shoulders clad in a green-and-white hoodie, damp hair curling at the edges as though he’d showered in a hurry.

Must be a football player.

Should have known.