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Instead of sitting up in my bed and stretching like I normally greet the morning, I perform a slow log roll until I reach the edge of the mattress, then laboriously push my legs out from under the sheets. When I’m standing, I make a mental check.
One task finished among the hundred I need to perform to make it through this day.
This piece-of-shit day.
This day that makes me wish I smoked, just so I could walk up to every calendar in the world and burn away this day with a smoldering cigarette. This day isn’t even worth acting as an ashtray.
And that’s the mental state that persists throughout the morning and into my workday. Doesn’t help that my shitty car is still sitting, useless, in the library’s parking lot, and I had to sprint to catch the bus. The last thing I want is to be surrounded by strangers, but now my commute includes them.
Luckily, this Monday, things are relatively slow. Others might like to keep busy as a means of distraction from their misery, but the more I talk, the more likely I’ll stray into unsafe territory and reveal my depressed state to some poor random library goer.
Best I keep my mouth shut and pray for the hands on the clock to pick up their pace.
I’ve set my mind to studying the strange shape of a coffee stain on the carpet behind the circulation desk when I hear the muffled approach of footsteps.
Deep breath. Try a smile. Nope, not going to work. Try a neutral expression. Hopefully that’s good enough. Look up, scan the books, check off one more item on today’s list of things needing to be done before you can sink into the oblivion of sleep.
But when I raise my head, all hope of staying detached from this interaction flutters away.
“Cole Allemand,” I murmur, unable to infuse the words with my normal enthusiasm.
“Summer Pierce.” A smile begins to flicker across his mouth but disappears just as quickly when he examines my attempt at a neutral expression.
“What’s wrong?”
Attempt at normalcy? Failed.
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
“It’s rude to point that out.”
“It’s rude to lie.”
“I’m being nice to a library patron. I don’t see how that’s rude.”
“Summer.” Cole leans forward, holding my gaze with his fierce, frosty eyes. “You’re unhappy.”
“Yes! Satisfied? I’ve admitted it!” Cracks are forming in the brittle shell around my emotions. “But I’m not supposed to pile my shit on patrons. I’m supposed to smile, and help, and make sure you leave a little better off than you were before you arrived.”
“And you don’t want to do that?” he asks.
“Normally, yes. Every other day of the year I live for that. I eat it. I breathe it. I’m made of solar panels, and patrons’ smiles of satisfaction are pure rays of sunshine.”
His long fingers drum on the counter. “But I’m not your patron.”
“Of course you are.”
“Notjustyour patron”
I frown at him, stumbling over a reply, then realize what he’s hinting at.
“You’re my friend.” The words come out on a defeated sigh. “Yes. Of course. But I don’t like piling my shit on my friends either. Everyone’s day is better if I find a way to keep smiling.”
Silence stretches between us, but when I reach for the scanner again, he speaks.
“No.”
