Evil Librarian (5 page)

I glance up and catch Mr. Henry watching me in obvious amusement from the stage. He raises his eyebrows at me. “Nice boy, that Ryan,” he says, grinning.

I grin back, unable to help myself. “No kidding,” I tell him. I can hear the wistfulness clearly in my voice.

He laughs, but not in a mean way. Mr. Henry is a pretty cool guy. “You should go for it. Bass-baritones that good looking are few and far between.”

“Ha.” I shake my head. “Out of my league, Mr. H. Unfortunately.”

“Now, Cyn. Come on. How do you know until you try?”

I just shake my head again and give him a wave as I head out of the auditorium. Mr. Henry is a little too far removed from being a teenager to really get it, I think. It’s okay. While I am certainly not in any sense of the phrase going to “go for it” with Ryan, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be excited about our new level of interaction. It’s not . . .
impossible,
after all, that we could get to know each other better. Maybe we could even become friends, and then eventually he would start to see how awesome I am, deep down. . . .

Now I am actively hoping to find Annie at the library. Screw the creepy librarian. I can’t wait to tell her what happened. Okay, it’s not a marriage proposal or anything, but now that we’ve had one conversation, a real one that’s not just me staring at him in stupid speechlessness or me apologizing for knocking him over, it is highly likely that we could, you know, have another. And another. Which could be the start of really getting to know him. Which could be the start of . . . all kinds of things. My heart makes a few small twitches of tentative hopefulness and I let it, just this once.

Anything really is possible in musical theater. Even if the music at the moment is only playing in my mind.

By the time I reach the third floor, all inner reserve has failed me and there is a full-scale production of “A Heart Full of Love” from
Les Misérables
going in my head. It is taking place in Italian class and began with Ryan turning to me in the middle of a vocabulary quiz and bursting into song. Ryan and I are Marius and Cosette,
obviously,
and I have cast Kelly as Éponine, and Signor De Luca as Javert (despite that character not actually appearing in this number), and the whole scenario brings me great pleasure, even though the voice parts are all wrong and Kelly takes French, not Italian, and as far as I know she is not secretly and hopelessly in love with Ryan to any great degree. But that’s the nice thing about fantasies; everything can be completely and nonsensically rearranged to the suit the fantasist. It is why I often prefer them to real life. Still, I stop short of envisioning Kelly’s death-scene rendition of “A Little Fall of Rain.” I’m not evil, after all.

I do make her dirty and dressed in rags with noticeably unshaven legs and underarms, though.

Also, there may be some lice.

As the song ends I suddenly notice how dim and silent the school is. Every other fluorescent light along the ceiling has been turned off, and the hallway stretches out ahead of me in creepy partial darkness, and I become uncomfortably aware that it is very late. Even if Annie did come back here after study hall, she probably wouldn’t have stayed this long. I pause, thinking of the stairway just a few steps behind me, thinking how I could just turn right around and go back downstairs. There’s probably no reason for me to even bother checking the library. I can see the big double doors up ahead, flickering a little as one of the ceiling lights nearby struggles and falters. It’s probably locked up for the night anyway. I can leave, right now, without opening those doors.
Yes,
my brain agrees.
That is very logical thinking you have going on there. Let’s just go. Let’s go right now.
The urge to flee is nearly overwhelming.

“Oh, just stop it already,” I mutter at myself in irritation. I make myself start walking again. Seriously, delicious Ryan-centered fantasies aside, I need to quit letting myself get so carried away with ridiculous ideas. Even if there is little chance Annie is in there, I will make myself go inside just to prove that there is no reason not to. He’s just a librarian. I am not afraid of a
librarian,
for crissakes.

I grasp the door handles and pull, firmly ignoring the twinge of anxious disappointment I feel when they swing open instead of turning out to be safely locked and unopenable. I step inside, and the sound of my shoes against the floor tiles seems way too loud in the silence. Every other row of overhead lights has been turned off in here, too, throwing everything into half shadow and making the far corners of the room seem dark and threatening. There’s a light on in the back office, though. But maybe they just leave that on for the janitors. It doesn’t mean that anyone is actually here.

I clear my throat awkwardly. “Hello?” I call out.

Mr. Gabriel materializes in the office doorway and I nearly jump out of my skin, a tiny cutoff scream escaping me before I can stop it.

“Cynthia!” he says, smiling. “I didn’t expect to see you here at this hour. What can I do for you?”

I ignore my pounding, racing heart and make myself take another step forward. “I was looking for Annie. I thought she might have come back after eighth period. But she’s — I guess she’s not here. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“Not at all, not at all.” He comes forward and rests his arms on the circulation desk. One of the lights illuminates his face as he does, and I have to acknowledge that he really is amazingly attractive. “Annie was here earlier, but she left a little while ago.” His smile turns slightly apologetic, then brightens again. “She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she? Finding good library monitors is harder than you might think, you know. And being new to the school, I find that it makes my job so much easier when I have students I can rely on. You two seem to be very good friends. I’m glad to have met you both.”

We watch each other, and I am struck again by how young he looks, and how not-young he seems. “You sound so much older than you look,” I say without thinking, then realize how inappropriate a thing that was to say out loud. My face floods with heat. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean —”

He chuckles and makes a small dismissive gesture with one hand. “It’s all right, Cynthia. Actually, I’m glad to hear it. I get a little flak sometimes for my, ah, youthful appearance. From teachers and students both. I guess I make an effort to at least sound like I’m old enough to be doing what I’m doing.”

He smiles again, and I find myself smiling back. Maybe that’s all I’ve been feeling — the reason behind his seeming out-of-placeness. It must be hard for him, looking the way he does. I wonder if anyone takes him seriously without him having to prove himself first. You always hear older people wishing they could keep looking young, but I guess there’s a limit to
how
young. Especially if you work in a high school.

“Is this your first library job?” I ask, moving up a little closer to the desk.

“Oh, I’ve been around,” he says, his smile twisting a little. I realize maybe that’s not an okay thing for me to be asking about, either. Are adults weird about their job histories? Or maybe it’s simply none of my business. I don’t even know why I’m still here. I hadn’t been planning to stay. I had been about to leave, once he said Annie had gone home. But I feel all right just standing here, talking to him. Why did I think he was so creepy? He’s not at all creepy. I feel bad for even thinking that about him. He’s nice. Just a little awkward, maybe. It’s not like I don’t understand awkward.

I take another step, and then I’m close enough to lean my own arms on the circulation desk across from him. That’s better, I realize. Kind of relaxing. It’s nice in the library. Quiet. And there’s something very interesting about Mr. Gabriel. And he really is very attractive. He’s no Ryan Halsey, but —

Thinking of Ryan distracts me for a moment, and suddenly I feel like Mr. Gabriel is a little too close, right there on the other side of the desk. What was I saying? Was he saying something? I’m confused, like I just missed part of the conversation. Mr. Gabriel is looking at me intently.

“I — I should go, I guess,” I tell him. “I only came by to look for Annie.” He doesn’t say anything, and I feel like more explanation is required. “I was still here because of rehearsal. Fall musical. We’re doing
Sweeney Todd.
”

“Ah,” he says, looking genuinely interested. “The demon barber of Fleet Street! I’ve always loved that one.”

I see a flicker in the corner of my eye and turn my head to catch it. Nothing’s there. Of course not. Except then one of the shadows by the computers moves.

My breath catches.

“Cynthia?”

“Is that —?” I look back at him. “I thought I saw —” What? I have no idea what I thought I saw. “Something moved, over by the computers.”

“Hmm.” He peers in the direction I indicate. “I don’t see anything.”

I look again, and this time I’m sure I see the shadow of something skitter across one of the tables. “Right there! You didn’t see it?” He had been looking right at it. “Maybe — maybe it was a mouse or something.”

He looks at me. “I certainly hope not. Bad for the books, you know. And I’m sure I haven’t seen any evidence of mice. But I’ll mention it to the janitorial staff, though. Ask them to keep an eye out.”

“Yeah, okay.” Somehow this plan feels inadequate. I don’t know what else I expect him to do, though. Or why I’m so concerned about possible library mice.

Another flicker, this time on the other side, near the closest row of bookshelves. I whip my head around, but again there’s no sign of the source of motion.
What . . .?

“Another mouse?” He sounds amused. I don’t think it’s funny, though.

I glance up to meet his eyes again, and now I remember why I thought he was creepy. Because he
is
creepy. He’s just standing there, staring at me with those intense eyes, a little half smile on his face. Waiting, watching, something. For what? What is he doing? Why is he even here this late in the day? And why I am still here with him, dammit?

I push back from the desk, clutching my bag. “I should go,” I say.

“All right,” he says genially. His hand twitches slightly on the desk, and I step back in sudden terror that he might try to touch me again.

I take two steps backward before I can make myself turn around. I don’t like having my back to him. I want to run for the doors, but I resist. I walk calmly. Well, I pretend to walk calmly. My heart is hammering inside me, and I’m afraid to let my gaze stray from where I have it firmly fixed on the doors. I don’t want to see anything else from the corner of my eye. That last shadow was very large. I do not think there is any way it could have been a mouse.

I reach the doors, which has seemed to take entirely too long, and with great relief I place one hand out to push them open. They give an inch and then catch.

Locked.

I stare at them. I give them another tentative push. Then a stronger one. A slightly panicked one. Why are they locked? How can they be locked when they weren’t before?

“Oh.” I hear Mr. Gabriel’s soft voice from the desk behind me. “Let me get that for you.”

I don’t turn around. I can’t seem to make myself turn around. I keep staring at the doors, silently begging them to open on their own, as I listen to his footsteps slowly approach. At his final step, the one that brings him right up behind me, I feel all the hair on the back of my neck and arms stand at prickly attention.

“Here,” he says, and he places one hand on my arm to gently move me aside. There is one of those strange sparks, one of those I-want-to-pretend-it-is-static-electricity-but-I-know-it’s-really-not sensations, and I cannot help it, I turn to look at his hand on my skin and then up at his face, which is too close, again, looking back at me.

He doesn’t look away as he turns the key in the lock. His eyes are dark and strange and he still seems to be looking for something in my own eyes, something he does not appear to be finding. I hear the doors click open, but I cannot seem to move.
Run! Run away!
My whole body is in agreement regarding this proposed course of action. But nothing happens, not even when Mr. Gabriel’s eyes finally release me. He steps back and pushes open the left-hand door. I stare longingly at the portal to freedom, still not quite able to walk through it.

“Good night, Cynthia. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

“Yes,” I whisper. And then I can move, and I am gone, through the doorway and down the hall, as fast as I can go. I imagine I hear Mr. Gabriel’s soft laughter floating after me.

I don’t love walking home by myself at night, but compared to the library, the dark streets feel perfectly safe and nonthreatening. The little squares of light in the windows of the houses I pass all seem to call out their absolute normalcy, proclaiming themselves evidence of the nice regular world of homework and dinner and shadows that are only where they belong and do not move all on their own in strange and frightening ways.

I stopped running when I got a block away from the school, and I refuse to start again, not even to jog up the steps to my house. Once inside, with the door firmly closed and locked behind me, I am finally able to breathe again.