Page 21 of Speak

“Wanna know a secret?”

I flip the camera back over to front facing so he can see me blink.

“Alright I guess I won’t tell you.”

I narrow my eyes and glare at him.

“Alright, alright, shut up. Quit threatening me.” He teases. “You know how students aren’t allowed in the basement floor of the library, in the restricted Rare Books and Manuscripts Section, how it’s gated so only professors are allowed down there?”

I blink.Yeah?

“Well, there’s a secret entrance,” he pauses and looks behind him, lowering his voice. “There’s a light brown bookshelf in the encyclopedia section that opens on the top floor. It sucks because there’s a long, narrow spiral staircase and it’s creepy as fuck, but dad told me about it when we were there. It’s a Monroe family secret.”

I arch an eyebrow.

“So, the legend is, don’t look behind you while you’re walking down there. A reason the entrance from the third floor was closed off in the seventies is because three students fell down all five flights of stairs and died. Not together, obviously, but over the entire decade. Supposedly it’s haunted. So don’t make noise. When you reach the final stair, the door is a bookshelf on the other side. So be careful and make sure there’s nobody else around when you open it. You’re not supposed to be down there so don’t let anyone catch you.”

I throw him a smirk.

“Fuck, that’s great.”

I tilt my head to the side.

“Nothing, it’s just great to see you smile. If I’d known family secrets would make you happy, I would’ve told you years ago.”

I flip the camera back so he can see I’ve reached the steps to the door and flip it back to face me.

“Alright, well, don’t let me keep you. I’ll see you next weekend okay. Oh, and sis? Don’t open any of the other doors you see down there. Might let the ghosts out.” He jokes.

I don’t know why, but I show him a full smile.

He shows me a conflicted one.

We hang up and I push my phone to the outside pocket of my book bag and walk into the Monroe library John’s grandfather donated money to be built over sixty years ago. I’ve always loved it in here. The outside is made of white bricks that match the university with a red roof. It’s old and dusty and beautiful with the same high arches, stained glass windows with the same cedar wood scent andlemon pledge as the rest of the university. I silently creep up the stairs to fifth floor, grateful the library is mostly empty at this hour because I am very aware of my short yellow and black plaid skirt and the black lacey thong I’m wearing being visible to anyone that were to walk behind me or even three steps below me.

Okay, the encyclopedia section. Obviously that’s where a super-secret bookcase door would be – who uses encyclopedias anymore when we have our phones? I stare at them, dust collecting around each one… except… I pull on the book that has none and hold my breath.

Well, that was anticlimactic.

I let my breath go and then roll my eyes. I was really hoping for a big dramatic door creaking open and… fog or dust or something! It just unlatched. I pull it open and close it behind me. If I thought the library smelled old… it’s got nothing on the earthy smell in here.

It’s colder, for sure, and I feel my nipples pearl in my sports bra that I took the padding out of. They’re high-end sports bras and the padding still bunches up around my armpits or below my boob.Ridiculous.

The walls are painted a red so deep it’s between cherry and maroon.Like when blood is drying. I swallow dryly at that thought. On the wall to the right of me there’s a hanging coat rack and beside it is an old-timey sconce that looks like a lantern. The coat rack is probably the oddest thing I’ve seen but I decide to hang up my uniform blazer and book bag holding my textbooks, my laptop and my notebooks there so I don’t get either dirty then begin descending down the long spiral staircase.

After the first flight it’s no wonder those students kept tripping and dying down here; there’s no stair railing, just sleek, blood-red walls to keep me balanced while going down and every five steps there’s a dim sconce along the way that’s barely bright enough for you to see the next few steps ahead of you. Some of them flicker in and out, zapping and I catch sight of a few spider webs on them.

Don’t look behind you while going down the stairs.

For some reason, I’m so tempted to. It feels like the darkness behind me is lapping against my back, like if I turn around there willbe someone there to push me and without a rail to grab onto, I’ll tumble to my death. I rub my arms to keep warm. I know they keep it cooler down here to keep the ancient books from growing mold. Jesus it’s so freezing – the deeper I descend, the more that delicious earthy scent like soil opening up after a drought fills my nostrils. It’s beautiful.

And creepy.

I wonder if Doctor Archer ever spent time in areas like the restricted section of a library while writing a thesis about some mental disorder. For some reason, I think of Professor Harrington. The way his sea-green eyes with blue flecks behind those glasses that fit his classic Greek-like facial structure. How they stared at me in the dining hall and how his gaze had turned glacier when Jonasbravelyput his hand on my thigh under the table. It was the same glare he gave me while he was teaching.

Why did I let Jonas put his hand on my thigh so possessively?

Because it feltgood. It felt warm against the coolness of my thigh and it felt so good to be touched that I didn’t realize how much I wanted it until it happened. It helps that Jonas is fucking mouth-watering, I guess. Plus, we’ve already seen each other naked. Talk about a first. I snicker silently, I mean, yeah right, imagine me on a date?

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