I decided the second Jocelyn approached me with a mascara wand and a tube of lip gloss that a trip to the library would, in fact, be better.
Jocelyn had a way of turning herself into someone who looked like a boy crazy cheerleader, and she was convinced it was the most sophisticated, elegant look in the world. I would not tell her that I wanted to be her mannequin to spare her heart. Actually, I wouldn't spare her heart because she didn't have one. I thought of the term Fay liked to use when speaking of Jocelyn and smiled. Hint: it rhymes with witch. And it's not snitch.
"Can I...?" I asked Mrs. Iris. She nodded, retrieving her stapler yet again once again from the portrait of her little boy, Tony. I gave her a quick hug and shot Seth an apologetic glance, and then I was off. I reached the library in record time (I could almost hear Jocelyn's 'Whaaa...?') and slipped into heaven.
I honestly think that there is no place I'm at peace more than at the library. The way it smells, thick and almost creamy, with a touch of mustiness... if it could be bottled, I would wear it every single day. The touch of the spines of countless novels, each with another story, another life, worn smooth and soft. I walked once around the entire fiction section, running my fingers across each book, knowing each story would touch a different person.
I wrapped my fingers around the spine of Half Blood Prince, biting my lip in excitement at the prospect of re-reading the Harry Potter that I viewed as the best, besides Deathly Hallows, of course. I curled into a nice, squashy chair and cracked open the book. Soon, the only noises were pages turning and the classical music pouring from the speakers set up around Mrs. Sanders' computer. Even my breathing was silent.
Black ink on white paper. There's nothing better to soothe the soul. So soothing, in fact, that when the bell rang (at which point I was about two hundred pages in), I moved like I was in suspended animation or underwater or something. I replaced the book on the shelf, walked out of the door, and drifted to Mr. Bourne's class in a trance of sorts.
I wedged into my seat, smushed between the table for idiots and ours. Trust me, there's a pretty wide line between us and them. I ignored Passion trying to flirt with Darren, who was bent over Nadia's head, something I had never seen anyone do and not get hurt. Honestly, Passion needs to see, not just watch. Sometimes the girl's ignorance is astonishing.
I turned up the Incubus song on my iPod and scanned the halls for Axela, in case Nadia had managed to lose her. In reply, I felt a velvety head knock against my hand. I sighed and scooped up the rat terrier, handing her off to a slightly annoyed Nadia. She scolded her and put her back in her bag. Only then did I notice the change.
"Well? I told you I'd go goth on the last day." Nadia said with a shrug. I gaped. Black eyeliner and face art, black lipstick, black satin choker, black tee, black cargoes, black socks, black shoes, black nails, black earrings. Black, black, black.
I cracked up.
When Mr. Bourne walked in, saw me laughing like an idiot, got the meter stick, and slapped my head, shouting, "Fool!" I really shouldn't have been surprised. In any case, it shut me up. I apologized under my breath and rubbed the back of my head.
"Actually, I've gotten worse," I told him matter-of-factly, glaring pointedly at Nadia.
"You had it coming though!" Bobby, the posterboy of stupidity, said, earning him three good whacks with Nadia's copy of Popular Science. Mr. Bourne shook his head and turned to the white board.
The period passed in tense joy. Joy, because Mr. Bourne is freaking hilarious; tense, because at any moment he could whip on to you and make you the base of his next monologue. Scary as heck.
Suffice to say I was ready to retreat back to the library when the bell rang, and did so. As much as I loved Lori, I wold not suffer through another gym period needlessly. As soon as HBP was open in my lap again, nothing else mattered.
Thoughts of, "Ryan's dating Julia, who thought she was in love with Marky, who actually likes Julia's cousin..." were replaced by thoughts of, "Okay, so Ron's dating Lavender, but that makes Hermione mad, and she's still in touch with Vic, which makes Ron mad, and meanwhile we've got Harry with a crush on Ginny, who's dating Michael... now, did I get that straight?"
When the bell rang for eighth, I got up and put HBP up (almost in tears that I had been seven chapters away from finishing), then stowed my stuff into my locker almost without thinking. It was only when I was halfway to my seat that I realized the significance, and had to crouch with my head between my knees for a moment to regain my composure.
When I did, I had to stop Jake from terrorizing Will, make sure Brett (Rose's boyfriend) and Nero didn't concoct a diabolical plot to cover the world in hot sauce (they've tried), tackle Tasha before she could reach Fay and start up a game of Would You Rather, and stop Emma and Rose from conspiring to knock Jocelyn unconscious.
I should get paid for this.
