The only time their paths crossed was one night when Jase and I took Angel to dinner at Dairy Queen. Mom was working an afternoon shift and Dad had a school board meeting, which left us with the little monster for an entire evening. We bribed her into being on her best behavior with the promise of a kidʼs meal and dipped cone. Neither of us had been informed that the DQ had a new employee.
My stomach wound into knots as we approached the counter where Alex waited. I said a silent prayer that we could get our dinner without causing a scene.
“Can I help you?” Alex asked, eyes locked on Jase. Even in the ridiculous fast food uniform he looked like the embodiment of physical perfection.
“Number five with a Mello Yello,” Jase said sharply. “Scout?” Alex didnʼt even look at me while I ordered for Angel and myself, nor did he feel the need to acknowledge my presence when he handed me our tray of food. I tried to ignore the tiny bit of disappointment I was feeling almost as hard as I tried to ignore the tiny spark of hope I felt when Angel later announced that the pretty boy behind the counter kept looking at me. Of course, the snarl that escaped from Jase helped with that second endeavor.
Mostly, though, those autumn months were uneventful. Alex Cole lived his life, and I lived mine. We shared a state of peaceful coexistence.
And then Mrs. Sole changed everything.
“Iʼve had the best idea,” she announced as she attempted to perch herself on the end of the table that served as the editorial staffʼs office. Mrs. Sole is a 5 foot tall 65 year old woman who is rather round and has a unusual fondness for double knit pants. She really should not try to perch onto anything ever. “I want to do a series of articles where we have two writers giving opposing views on a topic.”
“Like a point/counterpoint type thing?” I asked, liking the idea.
“Kind of,” Mrs. Sole said, “but instead of two separate articles I want it to be more like a conversation.” She dropped her head as though she were confessing to some big secret. “I got the idea from reading a transcript of my favorite podcast.” Mrs. Sole knew what a podcast was? That woman was always full of surprises.
“Sounds cool,” I said.
She looked relieved. “Iʼm so glad you think so, because I want you and Alex to write it.” The lights in the room suddenly got much too bright and the oxygen, which had been plentiful just moments before, went thin.
Okay, so Alex definitely has some writing talent. Two weeks ago he wrote an article on the lack of support the academic team received that almost made me want to go to a meet, and I hated watching those when I was actually on the team. I could see why she would choose him, but Meg would have been a much wiser choice than I was. She had placed in the state debate finals last year, and her writing was flawless.
“Me?” I asked, trying not to look in Alexʼs direction.
“The two of you have such similar writing styles and cadences that I think you will play nicely off of each other.” Mrs. Sole slid rather ungracefully from the top of our table to the floor.
“I need one thousand words by Friday on socialized medicine. You can decide who is pro and who is con.”
She walked away, leaving me in a state of absolute panic. A thousand words by Friday? It was Wednesday!
Then, my biggest concern spoke up.
“What do you know about socialized medicine?”
“Ummm...they have it in Canada?” I looked up to see that, for the first time since August, he was smiling at me. Well, one corner of his mouth was turning up. It was at least the beginning of a smile.
“Weʼre being punished for something, arenʼt we?”
I considered the possibility for a moment. “I heard that my dad is pushing her to retire at the end of the year, so that is probably how I ended up on her bad side. Teachers just love taking out their aggressions against my father on me.” It was true. My dadʼs relationship with Mr. Beck was part of the reason he was so awful to me. “What did you do to deserve such a fate?” Alex grinned for real this time. “I ran over her car.”
“No, you did not!”
He shrugged and dropped his gaze. “The brakes on my car arenʼt so good. Thereʼs just a tiny dent on that huge boat of hers, but she has been out to get me ever since.”
“You hurt the Caddy,” I teased. “Itʼs a miracle she didnʼt try to kill you.”
“I think Mrs. Sole is more of a torture kind of woman. Murder would be much too gauche.” Personally, I didnʼt find homicide nearly as gauche as telling a girl that you considered spending time with her torture.
I reluctantly made plans to meet him after school. How was I supposed to work with someone that obviously wanted nothing to do with me? I was angry at him for being so blunt, at Mrs. Sole for putting me into this situation, and mostly at myself for wanting him to like me. I knew better than to care what someone like Alex Cole thought of me. I tried to talk some sense into myself that afternoon as I drove to the center of town.
Our public library is my absolute favorite place on earth. Several years ago, the Methodist church relocated to a larger building on the outskirts of town, and the library moved into the old, gothic building on the court square. All of the wood, stone, and stained glass gave the place a majestic feel.
Of course, my little sister didnʼt care about the splendor of the building, or the fact that I felt like I was going to puke.
“Canʼt we go to the park and swing first? Pretty, pretty please?” she asked as I pulled into the tiny parking lot. Jase had basketball practice every afternoon, so I was stuck with baby-sitting duty on the days Mom worked.
“Sorry, Munchkin, but I have to work on a homework project. But itʼs Wednesday, so Emma will be here for you to play with.”
Angel immediately perked up. Emma was Miss Nancy, the librarianʼs, niece. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons she stayed at the library while her mom went to aerobics.
She was in the third grade and Angelʼs idol.
Angel ran up the stone steps and through the heavy front door before I could get everything gathered from the back seat. I hurried after her to ensure that she was not causing a ruckus.
Miss Nancy preferred to keep her library as peaceful as the sanctuary the building previously housed.
I spotted Alex sitting at a table tucked into the reference section, but it took forever for me to work my way through the library. First, I had to stop and help Mr. George, a grouchy old man who hated everything except for the gaggle of animals with which he shared a two room apartment. I fixed his “broken” computer by turning the monitor back on. Then, Miss Nancy gave me a stack of books I requested and talked endlessly about the debate her blog had sparked over the importance of Holden Caulfield in modern society. I thought I was home free after that, but a hand came out of nowhere, grabbing my elbow and pulling me towards a rack of comics.