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“I’m sorry. What?” I give her my attention, pulling my oversized cardigan tighter around my body. This building stays cold but at the same time, I don’t mind guarding myself with the extra-knit barrier.
“Our newest eye candy is back,” she whispers to me, not managing to hide her amused chuckle. Although I know exactly who she’s referring to, I glance anyway, needing a small peak.
As suspected, the new mystery man in town is strolling through the far doors of the library. Just as he has the past two weeks, he walks up and down a few aisles before grabbing a book and sitting at one of our open tables. Just as I have the past two weeks, I slyly watch him the whole time.
It’s pathetic.
I’ve already memorized the way his jeans hug his muscular thighs, and how his arms look in the Henley he’s usually wearing. I know exactly how his dark blonde strands start curling at the ends, hanging just past his ears. Some days he wears a weathered baseball cap, but today he’s not. I have an unobstructed view of his chiseled face that I do not need.
I don’t need to look at him to know that his nose is slightly crooked as if it’s been broken, or that his facial hair is barely uneven. It’s as if he’s kept it longer around his mouth at times and trimmed the rest, but has recently let it grow out.
I do have to imagine what color his eyes are. From where I hide in my little island across the library, I can’t see his eyes. Whether he’s wearing a ball cap or not, his eyes are always shadowed. I don’t think I would be able to see them clearly unless I was standing right in front of him, and that is not going to happen.
He’s never borrowed a book. He reads at his table and then puts it exactly where it belongs back on the shelf. I’ve checked. I’ve been a little more than curious about what he likes to read from the non-fiction section.
At 4:25 he’ll walk into the meeting room exactly five minutes before the support group starts, every time. It’s been the same routine each Tuesday and Thursday. My shift ends at five o’clock on these days, so I never get to see him leave.
I’m a certifiable stalker, but I wouldn’t tell anyone that. Not even Latisha.
“Who?” I finally respond, playing dumb as if I haven’t already been caught staring at him.
“You know who.” She rolls her eyes at me, not letting me off the hook. “You should go ask him on a date!” She suggests, excitedly. I cringe.
“You know that I can’t do that.” I exhale my defeat. She knows that I have problems with men, but she doesn’t know the extent of it. My problem is a burden and I make sure to leave everyone in the dark for their own sake.
“Sweetie, you never know unless you try. Besides, you deserve love no matter what,” she sympathizes.
“A man like that would never settle for what I have to offer. Which is practically nothing.” I wrap my cardigan tighter around myself like a shield. The drab gray material hides the bright yellow sunflowers all over my dress. Yellow is cheery and happy. I wear it almost every day for the kids, but nothing makes me feel more dull and lifeless than talking about my problems.
“You have so much to offer. Never sell yourself short,” she scolds. I’ve heard it before, and I’m sure she’ll make me hear it again. All I can offer is a small smile and nod, effectively closing the topic. A patron walks up to her side of the counter, saving me from any further conversation about the new library man candy.
However, it doesn’t stop me from stealing one more glance in his direction. Nor does it stop me from noticing that he hasn’t turned a single page of his book in the five minutes he’s been staring at it.
Chapter Two
Jesse
“Look. It’s the little orphan. What are you doing out here all alone? Little orphan.” Jeremiah shoves my shoulder like he’s done hundreds of times since I’ve been in this horrible group home.
I ignore him like usual, not bothering to mention that he’s here just like me. No parents to be found for either of us, but I’m the one he calls a little orphan.
I stand up from the broken-down porch steps that lead into the backdoor of the two-story home, intending to find a new location to sulk.
Before I can escape, Jeremiah grabs me by my collar and tosses me down the steps into the grass. It’s not the first time he’s tried to rough me up. He’s a bad kid who takes all of his problems out on the world.
At 12 years old, I’ve had enough problems of my own without dealing with this bully.
“Leave me alone, Jeremiah,” I say through gritted teeth.
I don’t like to fight. I’ve seen my fair share in my life. I’d been beaten by my daddy plenty of times before him and my momma died. I could take it, but I hated seeing him hurt her.
I swore to my momma that I’d never be a mean man. She’d just smile with her sad eyes, telling me she knew it. She’d always tell me she believed me because I had a good heart. But, now she’s dead and I’m all alone. My heart doesn’t feel good. It feels broken, every day.
“What are you going to do? Go cry to your mommy? That’s right. You don’t have one!” He shouts in my direction, spewing spit as he does.
Him mentioning my momma is all it takes. I launch up from the grass and tackle Jeremiah at his waist, knocking him back. Before he can regain himself, I throw punch after punch, determined to shut him up for good.
“Don’t ever talk about my momma!” I yell in his face as I continue punching him until my arms get tired. “I hate you! I hate you!”
