I was running so unbelievably late. I got out of the shower, slipped my sticky feet into
flip-flops, and squeaked down the hall to my room. And then I just stood there for a long while,
seriously considering skipping work and running back to bed to hide under the covers … would
anyone notice if I didn’t show up today?
There were days when I wished my bank account would just fill itself up without any effort from
me. Today was one of those days. My bagel got stuck in the toaster and burned to a crisp; I
barely hit my glass on an angle against the kitchen sink, and it shattered into a million jagged
gems; and the sole pair of clean socks that I could find were mismatched, and one of them had a
hole that kept cutting off the circulation to my big toe.
I hadn’t slept a wink—not even a little bit. I could sleep through music blaring in the room
next to mine. I could even sleep through a spontaneous game of dirty underwear football erupting
on the other side of my curtain, but I couldn’t block out the sound of police sirens going off
in the distant city night. Go figure.
I ran the four blocks to school. My kneecaps were still throbbing, and they were slowing me down
—that was my excuse anyway.
You wouldn’t know it was a university if you drove past it. From the road, it looked more like
a detention center, except without the barbwire and the guards. But, if you made it past the
windowless walls, the grounds felt less like a prison; there were real trees, real green grass,
and dirt beds with real flowers here. Sometimes you could even hear the birds sing over the
honking traffic outside the compound.
I followed the cobblestone path up to the school library. All of the school’s buildings were in
some way or another linked through underground tunnels or bridged passages; you never needed to
leave, go out of the compound, unless you really wanted to. The library was still by far the
biggest and nicest building, though I couldn’t understand why they would spend the most money
on something they were trying to get rid of.
The campus was usually bustling with students and teachers and staff. Now it was more like a
black hole had sucked out all signs of human life overnight. It would be a long, empty summer.
I tried to catch my breath before pushing through the library’s revolving doors. Inside, it was
cool—air conditioning was a luxury. I went through the metal detectors and grabbed my backpack
off the conveyer belt. A long counter flanked one side of the library’s main floor and rows of
vacant computer stations and metal chairs of burgundy plastic-leather took up the rest of the
space. But there were no books—and I was a conspirator to this tragedy. My job was to scan all
the literary works of art, sections 341 to 471, fourth floor of the library archives. What
happened to the books after that … the horror of the digital age was too much to bear. I was
selling my soul for minimum wage.
The lady at the reserve counter looked at the big clock on the wall and peered at me over the
rim of her glasses as I rushed to the elevators. My kind, the soul-sellers, weren’t exactly
hailed in these parts. I hit the elevator button to go down while perspiration was building on
my forehead.
There were five elevators that took students between the seven floors of the library, but only
one went down to the basement archives. That one was slow and temperamental.
I knew that I should have gone back to bed when I saw Jeremy stroll through the revolving doors.
I knew for sure that I should have gone back to bed when I saw him walking in with another girl.
I had dated Jeremy for about a month at the beginning of the school year and for another two-
week round of self-torture over the Christmas break. He had helped me get a job in the library;
I needed all the help I could get—there was only so much creative writing I could bring to my
resume without having to admit that I had never actually held a job in my life.
I pressed the stupid elevator button twice more—too late.
“Hi, Emily,” Jeremy said, flat-toned.
I pasted a smile on my face and spun around. “Hey, Jeremy, how are you?”
“Fine,” he quickly said, lancing his arm around the girl. She was everything I wasn’t: cute,
blonde, big-breasted, and shorter than him.
“That’s good,” I said curtly.
I pressed the button once more and the doors opened at last. We got in the elevator and let the
ding of the lighted floor numbers do the talking. Jeremy and the girl got off on the second
floor. He had looked back once before the doors closed, his arm never leaving her shoulders.