Chasing Serenity (Seeking Serenity) (5 page)

“No. We’ll think of something cool.” She sits up and instantly becomes all giggly girl, all dreamy romantic. “It’ll be fun and this time you aren’t all upset about what he did or man hating so there will be no excuse for not hooking up.”

“Sayo, why are you trying to get me laid?”

“Reasons. Besides, I’m not really trying to get you laid. I’m trying to get you to stop the ‘don’t come near me’ vibes you always give off.”

I flip her the bird and she returns the gesture. Then her smile leaves her face as an idea comes to her. “Hey, what happened with that jackass who attacked you?”

“Yeah, I forgot to tell you. Tucker is making him help in the library tomorrow morning.”

Sayo’s expression is dubious, worried. “You think that’s safe? He did try to molest you.”

My shoulders lift. “He’s full of piss and wind. Harmless. Rude and sarcastic and so annoying, but harmless. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s on scholarship. If he pisses off Tucker enough, then he’ll lose his place on the squad and will be out of the university. He has to behave now.”

“What an ass.” She crosses her legs and begins to shake her foot. Her ridiculous flip flop slaps against her heel as she moves. “It’s a lot of work. We’ll make him do the heavy lifting.”

“And the dusting.”

“And the labeling.”

“And the—” the sound of my cell ringing interrupts me. I pull my bag off the coffee table and take out the phone, anxious when I see the “Unknown Caller” on the screen. “Shit. It better not be Brady.”

“Could be a telemarketer.”

I wait for the voice mail to pick up and then push the speaker button. Sayo and I exchange a look when Tucker’s voice begins.

“Hi Autumn, it’s me. I was just thinking about you. The thing is, I don’t buy that we can’t be friends. I was hoping you’ll let me take you out for coffee.”

 
“Don’t you dare call him back,” Sayo says, jabbing me in the side.

“Like I would.” How did Tucker get my number? After I finally came out of my pathetic mourning for our relationship, I’d changed my number, even my email address in an attempt to avoid him if he ever bothered to contact me again.

“The best thing to do is delete his message so you won’t be tempted to call him back,” Sayo says.

“Give me some credit, will you?”

She disregards my comment then looks at the clock on my phone. “I have to get to the library. Please don’t bail on me in the morning.”

“I would never leave you alone with the jackass.”

I walk her to the door and kiss her cheek before she leaves. My phone feels heavy in my hand and for a moment my thumb hovers over the Delete button next to Tucker’s voicemail. He said he wanted to be friends. He said he was thinking about me. But I’d spent a year thinking about him, wondering where he was, who he was with and it nearly drove me insane. Friends? How could I ever be friends with anyone who abandoned me like I was nothing? My thumb pushes against the screen and the message disappears.

Cavanagh still sleeps. The pavement is wet from this morning’s brief showers and the street lights flicker to dim when I leave my apartment. There are no students running around campus racing to classes, no cars intersecting and tapping brakes to allow pedestrians passage. Except for the bakery around the corner, there aren’t even any distinguishable smells that welcome in the day; no lawns freshly mowed, no bitter tang of forthcoming rain in the clouds. My mouth moistens at the whiff of breads and pastries bubbling in their ovens.

The sun lifts above and casts an amber blush across the sky with flecks of gold and brilliant orange peppering between the lush, blue clouds. It paints the heavens with vibrant hues and warm heat as I pass empty corners and vacant shops on my way to Collins Memorial Library. Odd. I thought it would be cloudy today.

The building itself is exquisite. The library is at least three stories tall, a Grecian mammoth cast in white, with wide galley windows that glint the new sun onto the cobblestone courtyard below. Rows of large oaks and cedars hug the surface of the walkway like sentries as if to secure the precious treasures kept locked in the belly of this building. Brilliant colors of auburn and yellow are speckled beneath each tree from the mums and wild flowers that are nestled in the thick, green grass. If Heaven doesn’t look like Cavanagh, I’m not sure I want to be there.

Sayo has left the massive doors unlocked and I pull them open with both hands and hurry across the large lobby, uncomfortable from the echo of my heels on the hardwood floor and the dim light that peeks from the walkway above. I jump when my cell phone rings and the sound explodes against the empty lobby. Again I see “Unknown Caller” flash across the screen and I immediately ignore the call.

I find my best friend in the Reference Department, sitting atop a curved wooden counter. There are hundreds of books behind her dangling legs, stacked neatly onto four rows. At her side is a computer, a black phone and a sign that reads:

Silence in the library!

Violators will be immediately
fed
to the Vashta Nerada.

*The library director has no pity for the Doctor Who ignorant*

My best friend is still drunk with power in her newly minted Library Director position. Sayo’s thumbs work over the phone in her hand and when she hears me approach, she offers me a smile. It quickly disappears when I sneeze. The smell of dust is overwhelming. She neglected to mention that. Another loud sneeze flies from my mouth and I have immediate hopes that my allergies will at least allow me a few hours of sorting through the donated books.

“Here,” she says, handing me a Kleenex. “The basement isn’t as bad. Maybe you can work down there later.”

I blow my nose and nod to her when she puts a fresh coffee in front of me. “Maybe I should try tea.”

“Maybe you should get your allergy medicine refilled.”

Ignoring her ribbing, my bag falls to the floor and I shift through the large box of books next to it. Dust immediately coats my fingers and I am able to withhold yet another sneeze. Sayo laughs at me and I hop up on the counter to sit and stick out my tongue at her. The dust has left a thin trail on my black t-shirt and I use another Kleenex to wipe it away. I know it’s pointless, I’ll likely be filthy by the end of the day, but I’m partial to this “English nerds do it good well" t-shirt.

My eyes come up to the walls of the room, and the endless boxes shoved and scattered in every corner. I jump down as Sayo ignores me in favor of whatever compelling thing on her phone makes her forget that we have work to do. I slide the boxes onto the tables at my left and clear my throat when Sayo doesn’t make a move to help.

“Sorry. Twitter,” she says as if I’m supposed to accept her social media obsession as a viable excuse for slacking.

We work in silence, neither still fully awake, until we have at least four boxes cleared and the books organized into several stacks. I stop to pull my hair off of my neck and look up at the clock over the front desk. “Seven-forty.”

“He’s late.” Sayo takes another stack of books off the counter and puts them on a book trunk.

“I’m not surprised.” 

I stretch my arms out and pop my back, cursing myself for the mini “Fringe” marathon I decided to have last night. Netflix will be the death of all productive weeknights. I avoided my phone after Sayo left me. I avoided my laptop and my thesis edits because I didn’t want to think, or feel, or have anything remotely close to a rational thought after my encounter with Tucker. Of course, watching a show about death and abandonment and a couple falling in love probably wasn’t wise, but I kept watching and before I knew it, two a.m. had arrived.

“What did you do last night?” Sayo asks.

“Peter and Olivia. Again.”

“Don’t tell me what happens in season five. I’m waiting for Netflix to refresh.” I nod and try not to think about how Sayo watches me, how I know there is a question brimming on the tip of her tongue. She’s either thinking about Tucker calling me or our costume plans for Halloween. Her lips lower, a grimace, so I’m sure her thoughts aren’t on our plans a few weeks away. She and I have this odd little habit of reading each other’s expressions. A small frown, like the one she wears now, means she’s annoyed by something. She knows when I shake my foot or bite my top lip between my teeth that I’m worried. It’s those weird, comfortable tells that has managed to keep us confiding in each other for the past ten years.

I move the box in front of me across the table. “Go ahead. What do you want to know?”

She drops the book in her hand and stands next to me. “Did he call again?”

“He might have. I don’t know. I turned my phone off.”

“Good.” Sayo rubs her finger over the corner of the box, her eyes still trained on me before she speaks. “It’s just…I don’t want you to think I’m telling you what to do.”

“Ha. Since when?”

“Shut up.” Sayo stands up to stretch her back and flips her long pink hair behind her shoulder. She pulls up the waistband of her baggy jeans and I notice she’s dressed down today, likely anticipating the grunt work we have to tackle. She’s casual in a red Cavanagh U hoodie and dark gray jeans, but her shoes are a riot—steel-toed boots, scuffed on the tops with cotton candy colored shoelaces. Her attention returns to me as I grab another box and place it in the “A – L” stack. “Tucker is an unbelievable prick.”

“Well, that’s the God’s truth.” We both turn around to find Declan with his elbows on the front desk and that idiotic smirk on his face. He seems relaxed in a fitted gray button up, those bright tattoos visible beneath his rolled up sleeves. He walks around the desk and sits against it with his arms crossed over his chest. His jeans are faded, snug and the black Chucks he wears are worn, but clean.

Just one glance at that smug little grin on his face tells me I’m in for a long, endless day. “You’re late.”

“Did you want me to come here filthy from the pitch?” He steps away from the desk and stands in front of me, coming closer than is necessary. “Your fella had me running laps at five this morning.”

“You could have called.”

Declan slides his fingers through his hair and his attention turns to Sayo. “I could have. Can you stop your bitchin and just tell me what needs to be done?” He steps away from me and inches toward my best friend. I know that look. I’ve seen too many men give Sayo that look. It’s one she always deflects. “And who are you, gorgeous?”

She drops a box of books at his feet. “Way out of your league.” Suddenly, she’s all business, any humor, any kindness completely absent from her expression. She stares at Declan, who towers over her five-four frame. Clearly, my best friend isn’t impressed by his tardiness or sarcasm. “Take these out and alphabetize them. There are book trunks set up with labels. Think you can handle that?”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“That’s debatable.”

We’re quiet for several minutes, each busy organizing the stacks and stacks of books, separating them alphabetically, piling them onto book trunks, moving the trunks into sections. It’s slow work, but I enjoy the silence and manage not to comment when Declan complains to himself.

Finally, Mollie and Layla drag in from the lobby, clearly not awake. I get a nod from Mollie and a sleepy wave from Layla, and Sayo immediately sets them to work. She gives them instructions as I focus on the boxes around me, periodically shaking my head when Declan’s under-his-breath protests continue. Then, someone whistles. The sound crosses the lobby, draws closer and I am sure that Sayo will be yelling. She hates noise in her library. But before she can begin her fussing, Tucker walks into the room.

“Hey,” he says, as though I’m not supposed to be surprised he’s here.

“What do you want?” Sayo asks him and he turns to face her, eyebrows uplifted.

He glances between us, then nods to me. “I told Autumn I’d help out.”

“You did not,” I say, dropping the book in my hand into a box.

“I left you a message this morning.”

“I didn’t get it.”

“Well, if you would have called me back last night then maybe we could have talked about it.”

“We have enough volunteers,” Sayo explains.

Tucker glances around the room. He takes in the full, untouched boxes and the skeleton crew among us that haven’t even begun to make a dent in the sorting. “You sure about that?”