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“I know. I’m just… I know.”
“Hang in there, Cole. You’ve got great talent. It’ll happen for you.”
“I’ve got to go.”
After hanging up, I still feel shitty. Anxiety has the lines of my composition book blurring in front of me. Frustrated with my inability to concentrate, I chuck the blank pages across the room and collapse back on my bed, staring at the small water stains on the ceiling.
The conversation I had with Cheryl the other day plays through my head. My job is in jeopardy. My income on the line. Just when I thought things were falling into place, everything threatens to slip away.
Money doesn’t have to be a problem, a small tantalizing voice whispers in the back of my mind.You know how to make money. A lot of it. And fast.
Yeah, I do. I learned early on that my ability to create something from nothing wasn’t a talent everyone possessed. That I had skills plenty of people would pay for.
No matter if the transaction was morally suspect.
I could stick to the gray areas of the law. Return to my more innocent rule breaking.
With the plagiarism checkers professors use today, students can’t simply go online and copy-paste their assignments anymore. Not if they don’t want to get caught.
No, what they need is original work. Something I’ve never had a problem with producing at a high quality and in a timely manner. If anything, my time behind bars gave me more practice with writing and educating myself on a wide range of topics.
It wouldn’t take much. Look around on social media for some jock bitching about a professor. Maybe swing by a kegger or two to pass my number around. I did it when I was sixteen. Could start up again with little effort.
My eye snags on a book on my bedside table. The spine has a white label with the book’s call number printed in clear block letters. That font always makes me think of Summer and the way she mouths the letters and numbers to herself when she’s shelving books.
What would Summer think of me writing college research papers for money?
A woman who is interested in everything would probably be baffled at the idea of someone not willing to do their own work.
Would she be impressed that I can write an academic paper on almost any subject presented to me?
Maybe. But not if it meant I was breaking some kind of rule in the process. Summer is too good to approve of rule breaking. I’ve seen her stand at a crosswalk with absolutely no cars in sight, waiting far longer than necessary to receive the pedestrians’ crossing light.
It’ll be hard enough to convince her to overlook my criminal past when she eventually finds out. No need to shovel more shit on the pile by revisiting my old ways.
I’ll have to find some other option to keep my head above water. Something that won’t lose me the librarian before I’ve even had a chance to get her to fall for me.
Chapter Nine
SUMMER
“Summer.”
At the sound of my name in that familiar voice, I try not to cringe. I glance down from the ladder I’ve climbed to hang paper snowflakes from the ceiling tiles. And there he stands, staring up at me.
“Joshua. Hello.” My knee-jerk reaction is to ask if there’s something he needs help with. That is my job after all. But from our last interaction, I don’t expect this conversation to be anything library-related.
“Can we talk?” He holds out a hand as if to help me down.
Some people might think the gesture chivalrous. No doubt I would have a few weeks ago. But now I can’t help noticing how his extended hand has a layer of expectation to it. That I will abandon whatever task I’m doing and go talk to him. Not taking into account what I want, or what important duty I might be performing.
Seasonal decorations might not seem imperative, but I think they’re important. I believe that lending an air of charm and good cheer to this public space helps to make the place more homey. Provide a sense of welcoming. Let the patrons know we care about this space, and we work to make sure everything looks nice for them.
But all Joshua sees is me performing a task less crucial than whatever he has to say to me.
“Aliyah is working the reference desk right now. She can help you find whatever you’re looking for.” I tilt my head toward said desk, where my coworker watches this exchanging with questioning eyes.
“I need to talk toyou.”
