“It’s in Special Collections,” I continued. “Follow me.”
I stepped out from behind the desk, hoping movement would mask the small storm inside me.
It did not.
My foot caught on absolutely nothing, and I pitched forward, arms flailing as if I’d never walked before in my life.
Classic Fartie Artie. Trip over nothing. Impress no one. Survive out of spite.
I caught myself on the edge of the desk with a muttered apology to no one in particular. He wasalready there, steadying without grabbing, like he had anticipated gravity betraying me.
He followed me down the aisle with an energy that felt grateful and attentive and somehow directed entirely at me. I tried to ignore how aware I was of his presence at my shoulder.
“You located it with the machine,” he said, sounding impressed. Of course, that made everything worse.
“The… computer,” I said. “Yes. That’s what it does.”
I couldn’t parse the awe on his face.
“You work with such skill.”
I blinked. Was he mocking me? Was he serious? Who praised someone for typing into a database? My cheeks warmed in self-defense.
“It’s standard library procedure,” I said. “Nothing special.”
“I disagree,” he said.
My knees protested again.
I walked faster to regain control of my dignity, leading him down the aisle toward the rare books room. Out of habit, I washed my hands at the sink outside the door, dried them carefully, then keyed in. The smell of aging paper, leather bindings, and the faint cleaning solution I always complained about wrapped around me.
The shelf where the book should have been sat at perfect eye level. I scanned the titles.
Left. Right. Up. Down.
Nothing.
It wasn’t there.
Of course.
I checked again, certain my AuDHD was doing that thing where certainty arrived before accuracy. Still nothing.
A small, quiet drop of disappointment hit my chest, but the sound beside me hit harder.
He looked devastated in a way that struck something soft inside me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It should be here. I don't understand why it is missing.”
He nodded slowly, but I could see the defeat settling on his shoulders.
I couldn’t stand it.
“Let me take your information,” I said quickly. “If it turns up, I’ll contact you.”
His expression shifted into confusion, as if the entire concept of exchanging contact information had never occurred to him. “Information.”
He looked genuinely lost.
