Chapter 7
Carmen would say he looks nerdy, but I think he’s cute. He’s tall and lean and wearing headphones, jeans, and a zip-up hoodie that I’d love to steal. His hair is in the middle of messy and neat. He’s mouthing the words to a song as he scans the books on the front desk, like Rosemary normally does. She’s the librarian who has been giving me book recommendations for years. Who is this Library Boy?
He looks about my age, but I don’t recognize him. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t go to my high school, though. I didn’t recognize half of the names of people who sent me flowers and letters in the hospital. That’s what happens when you think you know everyone, but in reality you only know the people your friends want to associate with. Maybe I should know who this guy is. But what is he doing scanning bar codes on a Friday night? Doesn’t he have something better to do?
That last thought is a little judgmental, I realize. After all, I’m at the library too.
You have a mission, though, I remind myself.
I push open the door, and he doesn’t hear me walk in. He continues scanning the books and putting them into a pile on a cart in front of him, probably for reshelving before they close. I immediately see why he’s listening to music: nobody is here but the two of us. Libraries are always quiet, but there’s usually at least one person shuffling around or dropping something. The only sound now is the faint music coming from this boy’s headphones that gets louder as I approach him.
He still doesn’t realize I’m there even when I’m only a foot away from him. He’s mouthing the words and moving like he’s performing a live concert. I don’t want to be a buzzkill, but I need his help finding this book. How do I get his attention? Do I clear my throat? Tap him on the shoulder?
I’m debating what to do when he suddenly spins around and sees me. His eyes get wide because I’ve sufficiently scared him, and he backs up into his cart, making the pile on top collapse, the books dropping to the floor.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” I say as I crouch on the floor to start picking up the books that have fallen.
He pulls his headphones down to his neck and looks at me. His eyes are still wide, and now I notice how blue they are.
“What’re you doing?” he asks.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to help you,” I say, gathering as many books as I can in my hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He bends down next to me and starts picking up books too as he watches me. I can feel his eyes on me.
“I wasn’t scared,” he says eventually. When he grins there’s a dimple in his left cheek. I decide that we’ve never met—there’s no way I’d forget that dimple. “I just wasn’t expecting company,” he adds.
“I wasn’t expecting to ruin your concert,” I say back.
He grins again, and the dimple reappears. I stand back up and place the books in the cart. He does the same but then eyes me like he’s studying my face or something else. I look away, my face getting hot.
Then I shake my head, remembering why I’m here in the first place.
“I need help finding a book,” I say, pulling out the paper heart and showing him the number. “This is for a library book, right?”
“Yeah, that’s a call number. Let me look for it.”
He heads into the stacks and I follow.
The library is best described as cozy. The shelves are close together, like they want to hug each other, and there are plush seats scattered around in front of them, so you can stop and read right there.
Wandering through the shelves makes me think about this article I read one time. It compared the brain to an endless library in which our lifetime’s knowledge is stored. There are experiments that show that brains sometimes purposely forget things to make space for new memories to be stored. Meaning, we purposely forget things so our brain doesn’t become too full. Learning that made me think that maybe time doesn’t heal all wounds, like people say—we just sometimes replace memories we want to forget.
When Library Boy slows down and starts reading the numbers on the books, I know we’re close. I thumb the spines with my half-painted nail that chipped when I was making breakfast this morning.
“Here we go,” Library Boy says, stopping in front of a couple of books I’ve read before—Emma, Sense and Sensibility, and my favorite, Pride and Prejudice. I instantly know that’s the one I want. Your favorite place to get lost, I remember as I grab the book off the shelf.
“Didn’t peg you for a Jane Austen girl,” Library Boy says.
I raise an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just not very original. I’m surprised you aren’t wearing UGG boots and yoga pants. What is the Valentine’s Day version of a pumpkin spice latte these days?”
His dimple is showing, so I know he means to be funny, but I cross my arms.
“So you’re saying that when something is popular it’s a bad thing? If you work here, shouldn’t you be telling me what people like to read?”
“No, I’m just saying Austen is the basic of classics. There are plenty of other options.”
“Like what?”
“We’re in a library. I could go on all day,” he says, gesturing to the shelf in front of us. But he’s not going to get off that easy.
“Start with your favorite.”
“Sherlock Holmes.”
I laugh. “I have read Sherlock Holmes before.”
He raises an eyebrow, and since I don’t know him, I’m not sure if it’s because he’s impressed or because he thinks I’m lying. “Really?”
“Really,” I repeat, clutching the book. “But for the record, I do wear UGGs and yoga pants because they’re comfortable. Call me basic. But since we read the same things, does that make you basic too?”
He winks at me. “Or it means we both have good taste after all.”
“Okay, let’s go with that,” I say, stepping past him and walking swiftly down the aisle.
“You’re leaving already? I was enjoying this banter we have going on. Almost like Sherlock Holmes and Watson.”
“Or like Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy,” I say back.
I instantly feel my cheeks flush. Did I accidentally just compare us to one of the most famous couples of all time? My embarrassment makes me walk faster toward the front, as far away from him as I can get.
It’s only when I’m at the empty front desk, about to check the book out, that I realize I still need his help.
Suddenly, I hear a whoosh behind me. “Need someone to check you out? And for the record, I mean the book, not you, so don’t get mad at me about that too.”
So he’s flirty and has bad dad jokes. For some reason, the combo makes me smile in a way I haven’t in a while.
“How come I’ve never seen you before?” I ask. “Do you go to Arlington?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m a senior at Lourdes,” he answers.
Oh, the private school nearby.
“Where’s your uniform?” I ask, eyeing his flannel shirt.
“I changed after school. Didn’t want to stupefy muggles with my dashing blazer and tie.”
I’m so impressed by his Harry Potter humor that I can’t think of a clever response. Where’s my Invisibility Cloak?
“Well, thanks for your help. I’ll see you around,” I say, grabbing the book off the desk.
But as I do, a paper heart drops out of the book and Library Boy grabs it before I can.
“Give me that!” I say, but he’s already reading my next clue with a stupid grin on his face.
“What’re these paper hearts for? The number you showed me was on one too.”
“None of your business,” I say firmly, grabbing the piece of paper out of his hand.
“Well, who are they from?” he asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” he exclaims. “So it’s like a mystery?”
“Sure,” I say, even though I’m half listening because I’m already reading the next paper heart.
Reach for the stars to bridge your mind and heart.
I frown. The other clue I solved pretty quickly from the call number. But this one is like some line you’d find on a valentine at the drugstore.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I don’t know what this one means.”
He makes a sound that sounds like a tsk. “You’re the worst detective of all time. Your title of Watson has been revoked.”
“You know what this means? How?”
“I told you. I like mysteries.”
“In books, not in real life,” I huff.
He swivels his chair away from the desk so he’s fully facing me. “I’m a man of many talents. Mark Twain is a literary genius so people have forgotten that he also invented the bra strap. It’s an injustice to only be able to have one thing.”
“Mark Twain invented the bra strap?”
He grins. “See? I can be good at book recs and the occasional fun fact. I also solved this riddle easily and I just moved to this town.” He looks at the computer screen on the desk. “And according to your library card you’ve lived here for years. You have no excuse for not solving this.”
I wait for him to say something but he just smirks in his chair. “Are you going to make me beg?” I eventually ask.
He crosses his arms. “No, I just like the added suspense.”
“I don’t have time for dramatics,” I say, my voice rising way past library level. It surprises us both. “I want to do this next clue before my sister picks me up, so if you know this tell me now!”
He leans back in his chair. “Oh yeah? How are you going to get all the way to the bridge from here?”
“How do you know it’s the bri—” I start, but stop short. Reach for the stars to bridge your mind and heart. There are telescopes on the walkway bridge over the Hudson River. He’s right; that has to be it.
And he’s right about another thing: How on earth am I supposed to get there? Unless he can help me…
I normally don’t ask for help from strangers, but this boy works at a library, likes fun facts, and reads Sherlock Holmes and Harry Potter. He cracks riddles in seconds. He seems harmless, in a nerdy cute way. The kind of guy Carmen would get homework from but then stop talking to after, even if I told her she was being mean.
“What’re you doing after you close?”
He raises an eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?” he asks.
“You said you just moved here. Now is your chance for a tour of the longest walking footbridge in America from a local.”
“The longest one, you say?” He gives me a small smile like he’s not convinced.
“Not to mention,” I add, “hanging out with me is a lot better than doing nothing on a Friday night.”
I’m playing to his weakness as the new boy in town with no friends yet. It’s a low blow, but I’m desperate. He cocks his head at me like a dog trying to figure out what I’m saying before he responds.
“Well, when you put it that way, I should go just so you don’t think I’m a complete loser.”
I smile. “Partial loser it is.” Then, realizing I asked this random guy to help me before I even got his name, I stick out my hand and introduce myself.
“Ella. Also a partial loser.”
I’m kidding, but lately this doesn’t seem untrue.
“I know, Ella Fitzpatrick,” he says.
For a second, my heart drops. Of course he knows about me. Is there anyone in this town who hasn’t heard about my accident?
It’s only when he waves my library card at me that I realize he just read my name on it.
“My name is Andy,” he tells me, shaking my hand.
But I decide I might still call him Library Boy in my head.
The last time I went to the bridge was in June with Ashley. My mom thought it was a good idea for me to get some fresh air and other doctors had given me the okay. It was right after I started summer school, so I thought I’d be fine going out in public. I wasn’t.
The bridge was packed with everyone in town who’d had the same idea to walk along the water that day. There were families with kids and dogs. Others were on bikes and scooters, and boats zipped underneath us. I wanted to go home almost immediately, but because my mom really wanted me to start doing Normal Teenage Things again, I forced myself to stay.
I stayed in the hot sun as little beads of sweat formed on my neck. I also stayed as people I hadn’t seen since the accident spotted me and ran up for a hug, pressing the sweat on my back into my T-shirt. By noon the sun was miserable—for anyone, but especially for me, since I had one of my splitting headaches. Ashley and I ended up turning around before we reached the other side of the bridge.
Tonight, I refuse to leave until we find the next paper heart.
It’s a cold evening, so we’re the only ones out here. There’s a certain calmness to being by the water after dark.
The sky is pitch-black, but there’s a glow illuminating the bridge. The horizon is just as bright from the city lights. They are tiny distractions from the real lights burning above us—the stars, which we’re here to see. Telescopes are scattered across the bridge so people can look at them more closely.
If this were a date, it would be the most romantic one I’ve ever been on.
But it’s just Andy and me bundled up in hats and gloves. When we talk, little puffs of air escape our lips, like they do now as he tells me there are over 100 billion trillion stars. It’s another fun fact that I didn’t know, but it makes me feel so small, walking on this bridge, just the two of us.
We stop at the first telescope and Andy peers into the lens. I move to inspect it from behind for the next paper heart. Nothing.
“I thought you’ve read Sherlock Holmes.”
“I have….”
“Then why aren’t you doing what he does?”
I stare at him blankly, with no idea what he’s talking about.
“You know when Sherlock Holmes enters a room, he doesn’t look for clues, he just looks,” Andy tells me.
I glare at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Andy laughs. “That you’re just looking for the next clue. I think the point of this is for you to enjoy the view.”
I cross my arms. “Who said I’m not? I have enjoyed it.”
“You haven’t even looked into a telescope yet. Come here,” he says, grabbing my arm and moving me in front of him.
I look down into the lens pointed toward the moon.
“Wow,” I say.
Through the lens, the moon isn’t just this shining circle in the distance. It’s close up and real. It almost looks like a ski mountain, with its craters in clear view.
“That really is incredible.”
“It is.”
When I pull back, I realize he’s looking at me, not the moon.
“You’ve proved your point,” I say. “Are we free to move on to the next telescope?”
He smiles. “After you.”
We begin our walk to the next one, in the center of the bridge. The wind is cold against my face and reminds me why nobody else is here. I look at Andy and he doesn’t seem to notice or care. He looks from me to the stars.
“Want to know another fun fact?”
I nod, noticing that he’s walking even closer to me now even though we have this entire bridge to ourselves.
“Have you heard of Neil deGrasse Tyson?”
“The astrophysicist?” I ask. “My dad’s a science professor. Sometimes I think he might have a man crush on him.”
Andy laughs. “Yep, that’s him. Hopefully your dad hasn’t told you this one already…but Neil deGrasse Tyson says that we’re made of the same particles that were forged in stars gone supernova.”
“So what makes that fact fun?” I ask, looking up at the stars.
“Well, it means that we’re made of stardust and that not only are we in this universe, but the universe is in us.”
I look back at Andy. His eyes are as bright as the sky, but I don’t tell him that.
“How’d you learn about this?” I ask.
He smiles. “I work in a library. I read a lot.”
I nod. “Well, that’s a fun fact. But maybe not as good as Mark Twain inventing the bra strap.”
He looks down at me as we reach the next telescope. “Are you always this hard to impress?”
“Maybe,” I say.
“What about now?” he says, reaching behind the telescope. I don’t know what he’s doing until he grabs something and hands it to me.
Another paper heart.
The next heart is at the peak of winter wonderland.
I read it once. Then twice. And then a third time. Isn’t there always ice on mountains? At least around here.
Andy watches me think. “Well, what’s the verdict?”
The last thing I want is to see his cocky grin when he solves another one before me. Think, Ella. So far, all the clues have led me to a place nearby, so that helps narrow things down.
And then it clicks—peak could refer to a mountain peak. What about the ice-skating rink at Mohonk Mountain House, where my last Instagram photo was taken? That’s it! But then I frown, realizing how late it is.
“This next location isn’t open until tomorrow.”
“Bummer,” he says, but he doesn’t look too bummed. “Well, now that you’re stuck with me, are you going to tell me about these paper hearts? You must have some idea who’s doing this.”
“I wish I did.” I sigh.
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re following these hearts and you have no idea where they’re coming from?”
I bite my lip. “Pretty much.”
“Interesting” is all he says back. I can’t tell if he believes me or not, but he drops it. When he stares at me again, there’s still a sparkle in his eyes brighter than the lights in the distance.
I debate telling him everything now. How I was in an accident and I feel like my secret admirer could be leading me to something important. But he looks at me in a way that’s so untainted, like I’m snow at the beginning of December. There’s nothing better. I decide I don’t want that to change, especially since I’ll never see him again after tonight.
So I don’t share anything else about the paper hearts. In fact, I pretend that’s not why we’re here at all. We’re just two strangers looking up at the stars.
“Tell me something interesting about you,” I ask.
He leans on the railing, looking down at the frozen water, then at me.
“Hmm…you already know I love mysteries. What else can I tell you that doesn’t make me seem like a complete weirdo?…I love going to diners. Not nice diners either. I call those finers—fake diners—because they’re too nice. They buy a lot of old things like records to hang on the walls, but it’s obvious the place is new. I like the diners that look like holes in the wall. Those always have the best fries and milkshakes.”
I laugh. “So you’re not a fan of finers. Not exactly what I was expecting. Anything else?”
“I’ve been to Disney World more than ten times.”
My eyes widen. “How’s that even possible?”
“I’m a DK.”
I pause. “Is that another made-up word, like finer?”
He grins. “See? You’re catching on. DK stands for Divorced Kid. One of the perks of being one is that your parents are in constant competition to be the favorite. Whenever one parent takes me to Disney World, the other one plans a trip shortly after. Originality isn’t exactly their strong point.”
“But more than ten times?” I ask, still in shock.
“Yep. If there’s one way to put a damper on the happiest place on earth, it’s letting your child be in the middle of your divorce animosity. They split up when I was six. You’d think they’d be over it by now.”
“I don’t know, how easy is it to get over someone you thought you’d be with forever?” I ask.
“Good point, Watson,” he says with a smile, but there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes.
I turn to him. “Are you over it?”
He gives me another small smile. “For a while I didn’t think I’d be. I mean, if it were up to me, I’d fight tooth and nail before losing the person I love. But yeah, I think I am. In a way, it’s almost easier that my parents can’t stand each other now. There’s no wishing they would get back together or anything.”
“That’s good,” I say.
“But on a more positive note, I also like bad scary movies, murder podcasts, and overdone memes.”
“Those things aren’t really positive….”
“True. Just seeing if you’re paying attention. But they still all apply. Now, what about you? What’re some things I should know about you?”
It’s funny how you think you have a ton of things going for you or that you’re interested in, but when you’re asked to name some, all your answers feel super unoriginal. I used to be able to say I was my school’s planning committee chair, but that’s not true anymore so why bring that up?
“Hmm. I really like hand-lettering,” I answer.
He looks at me thoughtfully. “What kind of hand-lettering?”
“Oh, nothing exciting. I mainly just do it in my notebook and I’m not very good yet. Actually, that’s a lie—I’m good, but I know I can be better.”
“So you’re creative. I like it. What else?” he asks.
“Well, it’s no Disney World, but my family likes to vacation in the Catskills,” I say.
“Oh, like Rip Van Winkle? Isn’t that where he falls asleep for years? There’s this copy in the library that looks like it might fall apart soon it’s been read so many times.”
“Yes! I loved that story when I was younger, but it scared my sister. She was always afraid of going to bed in case she didn’t wake up.”
“How old is your sister now?”
“Sixteen. I still think of her as my little sister even though she’s not so little anymore.”
Andy looks at me. “Okay, what about you? What were you scared of?”
“Nothing too unusual. I was afraid of sharks after I saw Jaws and didn’t go out too deep in the ocean for a while. But that’s when I was, like, ten.”
“And before the baby shark song,” Andy says, smiling more. “What’re you afraid of now?”
A lot of things. Never being able to get over missing those eleven weeks. Driving in the snow. Driving, period. But what am I afraid of that I actually want to tell him?
“It’s okay, Ella. I’m not a shark, but we can stick to shallow waters for now.”
He then asks me easier questions. What’s my favorite color? I say teal. When he asks about my favorite food, I tell him about my family’s taco night. When he asks about my pet peeves, I tell him that I don’t like spoilers in Goodreads reviews, when adults play teens in TV shows, or the fact that the word pet is in the phrase pet peeves in the first place, which he declares the most unusual answer he’s ever heard. He then proceeds to ask me what the quirkiest thing about me is, and I say probably the fact that I make lists all the time. But he tells me that isn’t that quirky, so I tell him maybe I’m not as quirky as he thinks. Andy just shakes his head like he knows I am.
Then we talk about our guilty pleasures, or kryptonite, as Andy calls it.
He tells me he has a huge sneaker collection—so many that he bets he has more shoes than me, but I’m not quite sure I buy that, between all the shoes I share with Ashley.
As we walk and talk, we take turns looking into the telescopes from different angles on the bridge until I can barely feel my face from both smiling and the cold. Eventually, we have to rush back to the car for warmth. Once we’re inside, Andy blasts the heat for us as we sit in the parking lot. It’s only when our fingertips start to warm up that I finally check my phone.
There’s a series of frantic texts from Carmen.
Two from Pete that made me feel even guiltier.
And one from Ashley
I only respond to that one for now, my fingers still needing to thaw from the cold.
She types back immediately.
I turn to Andy. “We need to get back now.”
Andy looks to me. “Even Cinderella gets to stay out until midnight. In the movie and the original Brothers Grimm version.”
“Yeah, well, I’d never dare sneak out of the house like her, and my curfew is at eleven. Plus, my sister is picking me up soon.”
“Where is she coming from?”
“I don’t know, I think some concert with her boyfriend.”
“Concert? Why didn’t you go with them?”
I shrug. “A bunch of reasons. The main one is these paper hearts.”
“You could’ve easily found these tomorrow.”
Of course he thought I should be going to a concert over chasing paper hearts, but he doesn’t know how urgent this is for me. Again I think to tell him but wind up saying something else.
“Well, I’m not exactly spontaneous like my sister.”
“So you’re telling me you never bend curfew? What does that mean? You’re a good girl? A Goody Two-shoes? A brownnoser?”
“Coming from the boy who works at a library,” I quip.
“Touché. Never judge a book by its cover. What’s your reasoning then?”
“I just don’t really fit into my sister’s scene.”
“What kind of scene is that? Have you never been to a concert before?”
“Of course I have. Just not this kind of concert,” I say, not knowing how to explain it.
“Fair enough. Unless you were going to a T Swift concert, they would definitely kick you out with that shirt you have on.”
I realize he can see my long-sleeved T-shirt thanks to my half-zipped jacket.
“What’s wrong with this shirt?” I ask.
All he does is smirk. “I Have More Spirit Than You? You’re asking to be the next viral meme.”
“What happened to not judging a book by its cover? Anyway, I was supposed to be going to a basketball game. It would’ve been more than appropriate for that.”
“So you went rogue and I’m an accomplice?”
I nod. “Pretty much.”
“Well then, this sounds like a pretty spontaneous night for you after all. You’re giving your sister a run for her money.”
I smile. “I hadn’t thought about that, but yeah, I guess so.”
Andy doesn’t say anything after that, but he starts the ignition and pulls out of the parking lot. Once we are on the road, he presses his foot harder on the pedal and drives faster. I can’t see the exact speed on his dashboard, but I can tell by the way the signs on the road are blurred. Suddenly, I feel my heart racing and I close my eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “It just feels like we’re going really fast.”
He takes his foot off the gas. “Sorry. I thought you wanted us to beat them there.”
He wasn’t wrong. I did. I feel the need to explain myself, but it’s nearly impossible without explaining my accident. Before I can say anything, he eases up on the pedal and looks at me. “We can go slow.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“So what’s considered slow for a second date? Dinner?” He winks at me.
I roll my eyes, because I highly doubt I’ll ever see him again. Sure, it was nice of him to drive me tonight, and a couple days ago I would have loved to meet a new boy that I haven’t gone to school with since I was twelve—but now I have a scavenger hunt to follow. “This wasn’t a date,” I correct him.
“I know. You think I’d believe a girl like you would ever go out with a guy like me?” he says in a way that makes me unexpectedly blush.
I can’t start looking for the next paper heart until tomorrow, but in that moment, I’m sad that the night is going to end.
As Steve drives me and Ashley home, I can’t stop thinking about the paper hearts. I wonder who is sending them to me. Why do they want to stay anonymous, and why now? I don’t know a lot of things, but the one thing I do know: I can’t stop smiling the whole way home.
“Must have been a good book,” my sister says, eyeing me suspiciously.