The Sussex Park library was modeled after the Bodleian at Oxford. It’s all mahogany wood and high, vaulted ceilings, with stained-glass windows depicting key scenes from the Bible. The main chamber features row upon row of long wooden tables for communal studying, with several smaller rooms for private studying in cubicles.
I look for a quiet nook in one of the smaller rooms, away from the hustle and bustle of the students stage-whispering to each other at the long tables. Every year, I tell myself that this is going to be the year I buckle down and focus on my studies . . . and every year, I find myself in early December panicking about my low marks. This year is particularly bad: I’ve lost the plot in several classes and am coming dangerously close to failing maths. History and graphic design are the only classes where my marks are decent.
I find a quiet space in the back corner of a room by the stacks. A few minutes after I sit down, I hear laughing.
It’s Libby’s voice. And she’s not alone.
I stand up, peering over the cubicle.
Libby sits at a cubicle across the room. She’s visible in profile, but I can’t see the guy she’s with. She looks up at him through her lashes, giggling flirtatiously. The guy puts his hand on her arm.
“Stop it,” she says. “We’re supposed to be studying.”
I push my chair back before I can help myself and walk over to them.
“What do we have here?” I ask.
Libby and David look up at me, both surprised.
“Hey, Charlotte,” David says.
“David? But I thought you were . . .” For some reason, I expected to find Edward.
“Devastatingly handsome? The most charming bloke you’ve ever met? Brilliant like a Nobel Prize winner? Don’t stop now.”
“Nothing,” I say, chastened.
“Do you want to sit with us?” Libby asks, pulling up a chair. “It might be boring for you. We’re going over our history homework.”
“No,” I say, pointing back to my cubicle. “I’m drowning in assignments. I heard your voices and wanted to come say hi. Just a little break.”
“Okay, well, hi and bye!” David says.
“Should I stop by your room after we’re done here?” she asks.
“Sure,” I say. I go back to my cubicle and try to work, but my brain is racing a million miles a minute.
Libby and David?
A couple of hours later, after finishing an assignment for English, India and I are lounging in her room when I bring it up.
“Are you sure you weren’t confused? She’s been helping him with his homework all term. She’s everybody’s resident tutor, apparently. She should start charging tuition.”
“I saw it with my own two eyes! He was flirting with her—but that’s nothing new. What’s crazy is she was flirting back.”
“Maybe she’s getting her footing,” India says. “You say she’s never had a boyfriend?”
“Right.”
“Everybody has to start somewhere, I suppose. Huh. I thought she had better taste than that.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “They could be kind of cute together. He’s silly and sweet. At least he’s not Tarquin.”
India looks at me as if I’ve grown a third eyeball. “But David? I thought you had better taste than that.”
India’s not smoking, but I stand up and rummage through her goodie drawer, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting up. Weirdly, I feel like celebrating.
“Do you mind?” I ask after I’ve already lit the cigarette.
She shrugs.
I walk on my knees over to the window, pushing the panes out and letting the blast of cold air stab me in the face. Strains of old-school Radiohead play on her music dock.
“Libby and David. You know—it could work. He’ll loosen her up, bring out her silly side.”
“I don’t think Libby needs much prodding,” India says. “It’s hard for you to see it because you’re her sister. But she’s already done a one-eighty from when she arrived on campus.”
“Yeah?”
“Abso-lutely. Do you remember how shy she was those first few weeks? She barely spoke. She’s so much more relaxed—much more comfortable in her own skin. She even makes jokes! Thank God for that wardrobe revamp, too. She doesn’t look like some refugee from a Nirvana video anymore.”
“She’s pretty, right?”
India raises an eyebrow. “You’re joking if you have to ask. She’s bloody gorgeous.”
“That’s what I thought.” I take another drag, satisfied. “Good. Looks like all’s well that ends well.”
“Kind of funny,” India says. “Reversal of fortune.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean: the second you stop dating Edward, Libby gets a guy.”
I shrug. “Good for her! I’m swearing off dating for at least a few months. I need a little ‘me’ time, you know?”
India nods. “Story of my life.”
“Even now?” I ask. “I thought you might be seeing somebody. Who’s the lucky girl?”
She looks at me, smiling enigmatically. “What makes you think there’s somebody?”
“Oh, please,” I say. “You think you’re all mysterious but I see right through you.”
“A lady never tells,” she says, brushing her hair from side to side over her shoulders in mock snootiness.
“Well, I’m no lady,” I say.
“And that’s exactly why I love you.”
“Seriously? Not a peep? I can tell you’re hiding something!”
But India just smiles again, pulling out a bottle of sauvignon blanc from her drawer. “More wine?”
The following weekend, after our house Christmas parties, the group meets at Donatella for the last dinner before break. The last week of school is all about nose-to-the-grindstone studying, so we arrange our farewell get-together for the weekend before. Most of us are scheduled to leave campus to go home the second our last exam is finished.
I’m sitting between Edward and India at one end of the table in Donatella’s small private room. Apologizing to Edward seems to have made all the difference in the world—he and I are on great terms now. Everything feels easy again, like at the beginning of the year when Libby first arrived on campus.
Speaking of Libby: she’s tipsy. Like, really tipsy.
We’ve all been into the wine tonight, excited to let off steam before diving into the madness of final exams. But where Libby normally stops after one, maybe two glasses, tonight she’s refilling her glass over and over.
Earlier, I threw on a casual but cute outfit—skinny jeans, a boxy blouse, and a chunky jeweled necklace, plus a leather jacket—and went by Libby’s room early, thinking maybe I could help her pick out an outfit. No need: she was all ready to go. Her blue-and-white patterned pleated dress is so cute I want to borrow it, and she’s paired it with sheer black tights, her trusty army jacket, and short black booties. It strikes the right note of sexy and self-assured.
The duckling has turned into a swan.
I lean over to Edward, poking him. “Get a load of Libby and David.”
“What about them?” he asks, stopping mid-sip and putting his glass of wine down.
“I think they’re going to pull.”
At this, Edward starts laughing. “You’re mental. There’s no way Libby would get with him in a million years. Never.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” I say. “But then I saw them in the library last week.”
“The library? What was David doing in the library?”