|CHAPTER THREE|

I started to spend much more time at the library. As soon as I finished one book, Bash would hand me another. I picked out a spot in the library, my spot where Bash could always find me. It was in the corner of the biography section, beside a window that overlooked the park. I sat and read until closing time, and Bash would stop by to take any finished book I had and replace it with another.

He read everything: comedies, nonfiction, horror, history, romance, adventure, sci-fi. Titles like: Ford Rucker’s Guide to Staying Alive, Pendulum, Tragedy on Seventh Street, Verona’s Very Bad Idea, Twelve Missed Kisses.

He found books I’ve never heard of in every kind of condition. Old, new, falling apart, never-been-opened, coffee-stained, dogged eared pages, crisp, right off the press paper.

He had the place wired, and he snaked around the aisles so quietly you’d never know he existed. Sometimes I questioned if he was real or if I had hallucinated him in the overheated state I was in upon meeting him. One second you may look up from your book and be surrounded by nothingness, the next he’d be standing over your shoulder checking what page you were on.

On this day in particular, he was late to bring me a new book, so I slouched back in the leather cushions of the library chair I claimed and stared out at the park. Twelve Missed Kisses rested on the corner of my knee, waiting to be snatched.

I thought about the look on Quinn’s face when I told her I didn’t want to go to the waterpark again today. She was mad that I kept blowing her off, and with the reputation I had with friendships, I guess I couldn’t blame her. She probably thought she hit her expiration date—which wasn’t true—I was just tired of tanning lotion and bikinis and endless babbling about boys. If I left my fate in her hands, she’d have me on a hundred blind dates by the end of summer.

“What did you think?”

It had been a couple of weeks since our first meeting, and he always asked the same question when he greeted me. Bash’s voice was something I could recognize easily by now. It was low and soft, and his words always sounded slurred together. I didn’t know where he was from, but the more I listened to him talk, the more distinct the dialect difference became.

I turned my eyes away from the park to look at him. He had his hair swept back in a ponytail again, and he wore a plain colored short-sleeve button up and slacks. Today, he abandoned the book cart and sat down in the chair next to mine, separated only by a low side table.

I lifted the book and offered it to him, which he accepted and then looked at me expectantly.

“Not your best pick,” I advised him.

His mouth dropped open in a scoff. “What are you, some kind of grouch? Remy and Ferra are charming, and their love story is refreshing. By the end you yearn for something as wonderful as what they had.”

I shrugged and slapped my hands on my knees somewhat defeatedly, because this is how he reacted every time I told him I didn’t care for one of his stories. “It’s corny.”

“Of course it’s corny,” Bash squabbles, “Romance is corny. That’s the whole point.  It’s supposed to make you feel silly.”

I exhaled deeply and shook my head.

His eyes narrowed, lips pinching together. “I think you just like to argue for arguments sake.”

While his statement was somewhat true, it wasn’t true at that moment. I sat up, crossing my arms. “Oh, c’mon, you can do better than that.”

“I could,” he agreed. “I’ve got a better selection of books at my place. You would never believe how many fantastic books this place is missing.”

“Given your taste in books...”

“Hey!” He pointed to me accusingly. It took some effort to keep a straight face, especially the more he got flustered.

“Don’t you have some books to be shelving?” I asked. This is the longest he’d hung around. Usually, he’d drop a new book in my lap, ask how I liked the other one, and move on. He normally didn’t make himself comfortable in the chair across from me.

“Always,” he sighed, “but I’ve got time.”

I raised an eyebrow, and when he made eye contact, cleared my throat and looked back out the window. He must have sensed I wasn’t interested in discussing anything other than books because he scooted forward and got up. I kept my gaze on the park until another book was set in my lap.

“Let me know what you think, Jovial.”

“Jovie—”

He laughed. “I know. Just for jocularity.”

He had found out I thought his word choice was, at times, ridiculous. The corners of my lips turned up softly, and my eyes followed him until he disappeared the way he always does, in a blink.

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The more time I spent there, the better Bash and I came to know each other. Sometimes, he would abandon his book cart for twenty minutes or more so that he could sit and chat books with me. Every once in a while he craftily turned the conversation elsewhere and we learned some things about each other.

He was twenty, and transferred to Ashwood Creek from L.A. where he said the bustle became overwhelming. He liked it here where things were sleepy and he could hear himself think. He liked big words and loud music. When he got embarrassed he covered his face as if that would trick me into thinking he wasn’t blushing. He had two older sisters. He hated when I called him Sebastian. “That’s my father’s name,” he would say. “Also, my grandfather’s.”

What he learned about me was not to the same extent as him. I was more reserved, and he didn’t seem to mind. I thought he would feel weird about me being seventeen, but when I told him it appeared not to faze him. He called me a nerd for watching the History Channel, which was ironic because he’s the one who apparently had five hundred and twelve books lying around his apartment. He already knew I was the mayor’s daughter, but when he learned my last name was not hers, he didn’t ask any more questions. I liked that about him, he wasn’t unbearably nosey. He was able to sense when to change the subject or go back to book stacking.

A month after I met him, he left his phone number in a sticky note on the inside cover of a book called The Domino Effect.

Under his number was a message:

I am not hitting on you—but I think we could use some time away from the library. Call me if you’d consider being friends.

—Bash

P.S. The other librarians tease me about you. Help.

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Dinner with my mother was usually quiet. We would cook together, and then sit down to eat. She did most of her talking while we were bustling around the kitchen, reaching over each other, running tap water, and pulling cabinet doors open. After that, we usually had all of our conversation in, and the night would fade into silence.

Tonight, however, my mother wanted to talk through dinner.

“What did you do today while I was working?”

She had already asked that, but I repeated my answer. “Just lazed around reading.”

She spooned some green beans onto her plate and raised an eyebrow. I stopped cutting my chicken, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Mrs. Alberstein told me you weren’t talking to Quinn anymore?”

“Not true.” I sighed.

“Also, you’ve been leaving the neighborhood?”

There was a stack of books at the end of the dinner table, I had set them there when I got home and pointed to them now. “Reading,” I repeated. “Been going to the library.”

“You should take Quinn.”

I snorted. “Quinn at a library? Laughing, I shook my head. “Mom, she’s just fine shopping and hanging out at the waterpark with Zoey and Noel. You know that’s not my thing. I always feel like an outsider, anyway.”

“You’re not an outsider to Quinn.”

I knew I wasn’t an outsider to Quinn. I was an outsider to the rest of her friends, though. They only hung out with me because I was friends with Quinn. Besides, I had a new routine, and I liked it. Then, there was Bash who might think he scared me off if I didn't return. I didn’t mind him so much and I didn’t want to give him the impression that I did. Maybe I would call him, just to let him know that.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll hang out with her tomorrow.”

"Okay," she replied, and swung back into her normal routine. Everything that needed to be said was said, and we left ourselves to the silence. 

●════════●♥●════════●

That night after getting ready for bed, I crawled into bed next to Luis, who was purring on my pillow, and grabbed my phone off the nightstand. The books from the library were now at the foot of my bed. I opened up The Domino Effect and plucked the sticky note from the inside cover.

I had my doubts. I wasn’t a very good friend. When I got bored of people, or felt like there was too much effort involved in maintaining the friendship, I didn’t hang on to them. I let them go, stopped putting in the effort, and stopped communicating. It was one of the worse habits that I picked up from my mother.

So far, things were easy with Bash. I figured if he wanted to be friends, we could try. I’d just warn him, first.

I ran a hand through my hair and began to dial Bash’s number. I could feel my pulse quicken out of nervousness. As I listened to the dial tone, my mind went blank. What would I say?

“Hello?”

It was Bash’s voice. Low and slurred.

“Hey, it’s Jovie.”

“Does this mean you’ve considered a friendship?” There was a sense of humor in his voice, and I liked it. I thought he had the kind of voice that could calm a storm or encourage world peace. The kind of voice you’d like to fall asleep listening to. It put me at ease. I hadn’t noticed that before, and maybe it was because I was so focused on his face.

I let out the breath I had been holding. “Yeah, listen,” I said.

“Okay,” he said softly.

I struggled, trying to find the right way to say how I felt about initiating this friendship. My hand found Luis, and I began to absently stroke his tabby fur. 

“Look, Bash,” I began, “I’m kind of like a spinning wheel. I can’t have anything in my life that will slow me down and cause me to teeter and fall over. I just need you to know that before you make the mistake of thinking you can trust me.”

There was a short moment of silence on the other end, and I wondered if he had hung up, just like I would have done if I were him. I understood how frustrating I could be, but I didn’t want to change myself, I just pitied the people who got to know me.

“I can let go as easily as I can hold on,” he replied. “Just tell me when.”

 If only we knew how much this would hurt in the end.