There’s nothing suckier than having to go back to the library after what happened with Nico, but my dead-end Yellow Pages calls have made it clear I need to get online if I’m going to find an attorney. I just have to be stealthy. So after the weekend, on Tuesday afternoon, one week after meeting Nico, I tiptoe around corners and peer into the computer lab to make sure he isn’t there.
I don’t see him.
The problem is, I don’t see anyone.
The lab is completely empty.
But the hours are posted by the door, so I know it isn’t closed.
I pace back and forth. Do I go in there? Or will I get in trouble for not checking in with someone? Will I lose my lab privileges if I don’t hand over my library card to promise everyone I won’t steal a computer?
I peer around the corner again. Still empty. Is he working or not? Because if he is, I can’t go in there. No way.
I decide the front desk is my only option.
“Hi, I’d like to use a computer, please.”
“Oh, is nobody in there?” The librarian’s eyes dart around the library, past the bookshelves and the DVD rental section. “The attendant must’ve just stepped out for a moment. Would you like me to page someone?”
“No!” I shout. I don’t mean to be so loud. “I’ll just wait.”
I don’t wait in the lab. I wait behind a bookshelf around the corner. I can see the lab if I move two books aside. Not creepy at all.
I scan the books along the shelves, pretending to be enthralled by the World War II collection in front of me. I run my fingers along the spines, reading the titles. I casually pull books from the shelves. I try to read the jacket copy, but my eyes glaze over.
Finally, the person working the computer lab returns, and it’s not Nico. Thank you. I rush over, vowing to get my work done quickly in case Nico has the next shift or something.
I give him my library card and ask for computer number seven, just for nostalgia’s sake.
The guy working doesn’t look at my card and comment on my name or wait for me to tell him everything I know about the lottery in Bulgaria. He just slips my card into the corresponding slot and tells me to “get to it.”
I sit down. My fingers quickly glide across the keyboard, pulling up a directory of local attorneys, all still in business, unlike the ones in our phone book at home. I send the list to the printer and log out. I wait until I hear the printer stop churning out papers before I get up and walk over to collect and pay for my copies.
The guy hands my card back to me, and I stroll out of the library like the whole trip was painless.
Maybe I can trick myself into believing it.
I decide to reward myself by checking out the free samples at Starbucks. It’s only a couple of blocks away, and I enjoy the walk through town. The weather has cooled and it feels like fall. Crisp and clean.
The café line is short, but there aren’t any free samples today. Thankfully, I have money left from the five-dollar bill I brought for printing pages at the library. I order a plain old drip coffee. Since they’re in the middle of brewing a new vat of it, I have to wait. If I were a normal person, I could scroll through my phone to pass the time like everyone else waiting for their drinks. But I’m not. I’m me. So I stand by the counter and watch the barista make foamy milk at the espresso machine instead.
“Juniper?” a voice calls.
It isn’t because my coffee is ready.
It’s coming from behind me, and I recognize it instantly.
My heart skitters. Please just let me disappear. I don’t care if I have to become microdust that blends in with the cement floor. Just please don’t make me have to look Nico in the eye right now.
“Juniper,” he says again.
I turn around slowly, hoping I’m wrong and it isn’t really him.
But it is. With his floppy hair and his big brown eyes looking up at me from the long table filled with students, including Jared, doing their homework. He has a book propped open and an orange highlighter in his hand. Literally my favorite highlighter color. I realize this is a dorky thing to call favorites on.
“Hi,” I mumble.
“Hi,” Nico says, smiling like he didn’t peel off on his bike, leaving me in his wake, the other night.
“Hey, Juniper,” Jared busts in, all loud and enthusiastic. “Sit with us.” He shoves his camouflage backpack aside to make room for me.
“I can’t right now. But thanks.”
Nico stands and edges cautiously closer to me. When I take a step away, he shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and pushes back on his heels. “Hey,” he tries again.
“Hi.” I look around the café, like maybe I’m meeting someone here. Like maybe I have friends, too. Like maybe I can sit at a long table with a bunch of people and know all their names just like he does.
But I don’t know anyone here besides Nico and Jared. And I don’t even really know them.
Thankfully, the barista calls my name for my coffee order. I swipe it up, gripping the warm cup in my hands.
“Just sit with us while you drink your coffee,” Jared says. “Since you’re not contagious or whatever.”
My face drops.
I look at Nico, my chin wobbling. My voice comes out like a whisper. “You told him?”
“I mean…”
“I can’t. Oh my god.”
I make a beeline for the door.
“What the hell?” Nico says to Jared. Then, “Juniper, wait.”
I don’t.
I walk faster instead.
Because I can hear his footfalls behind me.
I push the front door open and hurry away, past the bike racks and the bus stop bench. One, two, three, five paces ahead of him.
The mail carrier tells me to have a good day as I walk by.
“Juniper!” Nico calls again when I have to stop at the corner. Stupid red light.
I turn on my heel. Glare. “You told Jared about me?” I lower my voice. “About the measles?” I don’t say it quietly enough, because two people standing next to me on the sidewalk turn to check me out. Are they taking mental notes? On my height? My face? My hair? Will they take a photo like those women at the farmers market? “Why did you tell him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I was freaking out a little and he’s my best friend. He told me I was overreacting.” He steps forward. “He won’t tell anyone. Jared’s not like that.”
“He practically announced it to all of Starbucks just now.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Please don’t. Don’t say anything else to anyone. You’ve done enough already.” I jab my finger at the crosswalk button half a dozen times, willing the light to turn faster. “Don’t you have to do your homework?”
“I do. I’m just…” Nico lets out a long sigh. “Can I please talk to you? For a minute?”
I pull my drink to my chest. It’s warm against my heart. Comforting me somehow. Holding me together. “Why?”
“Look, I’m sorry I left like that the other night.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. I think I hurt your feelings.”
I shrug. “Whatever.”
He runs his hand through his floppy hair and it sticks out everywhere. I want to run my fingers through it to tamp it down.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know what to do, so I left. But it was kind of a dick move.”
“It’s fine. Really.”
“It’s not fine. I’m trying to apologize here.”
I look past him. I focus on the bookstore display window behind him. At the cars driving down the street in the distance. “Okay. Thanks for the apology.” I take a sip of my coffee, trying to feign indifference. It’s gross. It’s hot and bitter and I want to spit it out. How does my dad drink this?
“Juniper, come on.” He stubs the toe of his red Converse against a crack in the sidewalk. “Can we please hang out again?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I have a lot going on.”
“Like what?”
“Everything.” I’m so embarrassed that it’s hard to even look at him. “Our house being vandalized. Other things. I’m not a great person to be around.”
“But I want to be around you.”
I crinkle my eyes at him, genuinely confused. “Why?”
“Because you’re cool. And smart. And funny.”
“I’m really not cool. I eat pizza with cauliflower crust. My dad treats sinus infections by burning a hollowed-out candle in my ear canal. I wash my hair with shampoo my mom makes from egg yolks and lemons.” I wince. “Do you have any idea how bad that smells?”
“But you don’t smell bad. You smell like…” He thinks for a second. “Coconut? Like sunblock.”
“Right. My homemade deodorant. Even better.”
He runs his hand through his hair again, and it flops all over. He needs to stop doing that. It’s reeling me in. “I don’t care about any of those things.”
“I do. I’m embarrassed, okay? My family isn’t normal.”
He laughs. “How do you even define normal? It’s not any one thing. It’s a perspective. There’s no such thing as normal.” He knocks his shoulder against mine. “And you know cauliflower crust isn’t even that weird, right? We do that at my house, too. And you can order pizza that way at California Pizza Kitchen.”
“You can?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” I clutch my coffee cup.
“If you want to swap embarrassing stories, I have a million of them. Want me to tell you all about the time my shorts fell down when I was running the mile in PE?”
The light turns but I don’t move. “Go on.”
Nico takes a step closer. “I’d had the flu. Lost a bunch of weight. They didn’t fit anymore. It was a whole thing.”
“Really?”
“Actually, no. But I’ll pretend it’s true if it makes you feel better.” He grins and I laugh.
“Stop. That’s not funny.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“Because you’re ridiculous.”
“Okay. But if you want real embarrassing, I can come up with tons of stories for you. How about if every time I see you, I tell you one?” His eyes are bright and hopeful.
“Why would you do that?”
“Maybe because I think all the things you think are weird about you actually make you interesting. And I like that you liked Stand by Me almost as much as I did. And I like that you know random stuff about the lottery in Budapest.”
“Bulgaria.”
“Tomato, tomahto.”
“Tomato, tomahto? How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Are you sure?”
“Look.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I messed up. I bailed the other night and I shouldn’t have. But I hope you’ll give me another chance. Because I want to hang out with you again.” He looks at me hopefully. “Can we?”
I kick my foot at the ground. Thinking. “What would we do?”
“We can watch movies and eat pizza and play the lottery.”
“Technically, you have to be eighteen to play the lottery.”
“So I’ll have my brother buy our tickets. But we’ll have to wait until winter break, because he goes to Northwestern.”
I study his face. His big brown eyes and the curve of his mouth. “I guess we can go to the beach or something.”
“I don’t generally do outdoor activities. You can probably tell from my pasty pallor.” He gestures to himself with a wave of his hand. “I’ve got bee allergies. And peanut allergies. An EpiPen. Benadryl. Is that a deal breaker?”
“No.”
“Okay, good. Because I love bees, but I can’t hang out with them.”
“Well, yeah, bees are pretty awesome.” I study him. “So you never go outside?”
“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m basically risking my life for you.” He grins. “I can go outside. It’s not that I never go outside. I just have to be good about being prepared. Like wearing long sleeves and stuff.”
“Got it.”
“So.” He nudges my elbow. “Do you want to come back and drink your coffee with us?”
I don’t answer. Instead I take a sip of my coffee. Shudder. “This is so gross.”
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s bitter.”
“Well, come back and add cream and sugar.” He smiles at me. Tilts his head toward Starbucks. “Come on.”
“Okay.”
He pulls out his phone as we walk. “You know where to find me, but can I add you to my contacts? Snapchat? Insta? Something else?”
“No phone.” I point at my skull. “My dad says they cause brain cancer. Do you want to hang out with me or what?”
“I so do, Juniper.”