Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
I can do that.
I think.
Later that evening, after being roped into working at the store for a bit and muddling through a rubbish Ethics tutorial, I head to the library. I’m twenty minutes early. There’s nothing that irks me more than being on time for something and finding out someone is already waiting for you. They’re early, yet it comes across like you’re the one that’s late. Well, not this time. I can’t let Amanda have the upper hand, even though I’m pretty sure she does.
I half-heartedly glance around the library. It’s surprisingly busy at this time of night and devastatingly quiet thanks to the eagle eye of one of the librarians. I don’t know her name, but she has a face you’d see speaking from an old tree in a Disney film, as well as a round, immovable build, and scaly hands. Her tongue will give you a lashing at ten paces if she catches so much as a laugh coming from your direction.
Quietly pulling out a chair, I take a seat at a table near the entrance, hoping to spot Amanda, but when it turns into 7:05 p.m., I’m starting to wonder if she’ll even show. I check my emails, my phone, and there’s nothing. I have a feeling that this morning was just a bunch of acting on her behalf, and she had planned to stand me up and go running to the dean.
Just in case I missed her earlier, I get up and look around again, this time going up to the second level. I’m just about to turn around when I see a flash of red hair in the corner. I go down the row and see her at a small table surrounded by stacks of books, a laptop open beside her though she’s furiously scribbling in a leather-bound notebook that looks like its seen better days. She’s got headphones in her ears, so she doesn’t seem to hear me as I sidle up next to her.
“Hey,” I say to her, waving my hand in her face.
She jumps in her seat, eyes wide, and lets out a yelp that comes out a lot louder than she probably realizes.
“Jesus!” she cries out, ripping the headphones from her ears and scowling at me like she’s trying to set me on fire. “What’s your problem?”
“Sorry!” I say, raising my palms while I hear the first “Shhh” of the librarian somewhere in the building. I lower my voice. “I was looking for you.”
“You’re late,” she says, trying to catch her breath and compose herself. She angrily tucks strands of hair behind her ears and straightens her glasses, swallowing hard. I think I like her like this, slightly unhinged. A red flush appears on her chest, similar to the one I saw on her earlier today.
“I wasn’t late,” I protest quickly. “I was here at six-thirty, waiting for you.”
“Yeah, well, I was up here. Ever think of looking for me?” Her eyes narrow, and even though I can’t see her pulse tick along her jaw anymore, she looks like she wants to kill me. She probably does. I can’t forget I’ve given her a good reason.
“Sorry. I didn’t think you’d already be here.” I force a smile and try to look as apologetic as possible, and gesture to the empty seat across from her. “Can I sit down or would you rather me stand?”
She stares at me for a moment, her mouth set in a firm line, her face blank. I can’t read what she’s thinking, but I know she’s studying me like I’m a frog about to be dissected, and she’s holding the blade, trying to figure out where to cut.
Maybe this is where I should turn and run.
“Yeah, fine,” she says, and as I make a move to grab the seat she says, “No, wait. Hold on.” She waves her hand at me, half out of her chair. “We need to talk before you even dare sit with me.”
Here it comes.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
The glare deepens. I can almost see the pits of hell blazing in her eyes.
“Something wrong?” she repeats, giving me a brittle smile. “How about the email you sent me last night? Do you know how close I am to going to Marie with it?”
I fold my arms across my chest and peer down at her. “You didn’t seem to mind much this morning.”
She makes a small noise of frustration, her brows lowering. “I hadn’t read the email yet.”
“Really?” I ask, feeling the corner of my mouth tip up, unable to help myself. “Because I could have sworn you said you did.”
Her chin juts out as she straightens in her seat, her attention going to the notebook in front of her. She quickly closes it up and slips it into her bag on the floor. “I think you owe me an apology and an explanation. All I did was email you wanting to work together on this and you responded by being the rudest, most misogynistic fuckface that ever was. I mean, I thought that’s who you were, but there was some tiny, naïve part of me that hoped I would be proven wrong.”