Page 12 of Jump on Three

Only then was I able to breathe and make myself comfortable.

I had a paper to write, and it was due tomorrow. Not mine, of course. I never waited until the last minute. Layla, on the other hand, was a terrible procrastinator. Since meeting her last year, I’d learned her habits. She made half an effort on her papers, researching a little, writing a paragraph or two of bare-bone ideas, then handing it over for me to complete.

Layla wasn’t a smart girl, so writing her papers took little effort. My prose was simple, surface-level research.

I didn’t like doing it, but it was less stressful than putting my foot down and fighting her on it.

She was captain of the swim team, after all. And Mr. Stanbury, our coach, was too busy checking out the girls in their bathing suits to police what Layla did.

If she wanted me off, I’d be off. It was as easy as that.

I didn’t have to be on the team. I could swim on my own. But I liked being part of something. Winning meets gave me a thrill I couldn’t find anywhere else. Therefore, I did what I had to do.

Plus, writing in Layla’s elementary voice was a fun challenge. Often, I’d catch myself sounding too smart and added in grammatical errors and unsubstantiated conclusions to make it more authentic.

That also gave me a sneaky little thrill.

Of course, no one could know I was doing this—especially Delilah. She would lose her mind and burn down the entire school.

As long as I could keep doing my work in the library, she would never find out.

“I’m sorry, Evelyn. Someone reserved room three today.”

Ms. Martin clutched the clipboard to her chest so I couldn’t see the name of the thief who had stolen from me once again.

“But…I got here as quickly as I could. How could they have beaten me?” I whispered.

Tears burned the backs of my eyes. I couldn’t cry in the library, though. If I did, I’d be too humiliated to ever return. I willed the tears away, using great effort. I’d expected the room to be available, and now, it just…wasn’t.

“The other student must have a class nearby. He signed up—”

“He?” I interrupted, caught on that detail. “He made a mess in there. Did you know that? He shouldn’t have been allowed back.”

Her mouth twitched. “When I next see him, I’ll remind him to clean up after himself.”

“He isn’t here? The room is free?”

“I’m sorry, Evelyn, but it isn’t. He reserved it, and he’ll be right back. If you’d like room one or two…”

I’d been so, so sure this wouldn’t happen again. I hadn’t allowed myself to prepare for any other possibility. I could take room one, but I’d have to contend with the vent blowing directly on the back of my neck, no matter how I angled my chair. If I took room two, hacky sack champions and toe painters would snag my attention through the large window overlooking the green, distracting me from Layla’s Spanish homework and my statistics assignment.

“Room one, please,” I wheezed out.

Ms. Martin sighed and scrawled on her clipboard. “All set. Room one is yours.”

I trudged to the rooms, stopping outside my room. The door was ajar, lights off. Seeing it unoccupied was salt in the wound.

Dropping my bag on the floor, I flipped open my notebook. The person who kept reserving this room obviously didn’t understand how important it was to me, so I wrote them a note explaining.

Dear Room 3 Squatter,

For more than a year, I’ve been spending 1-2 hours each day after school in this room. On weekends, it’s 3-4 hours.

You might understand, then, why I consider it mine.

Did you know there are 2 other study rooms available? It would be most appreciated if the next time you’re in need of a room, you pick one of those.

Thank you for your understanding. I’ll be in room 1 for today.

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