Page 15 of Between the Stacks

“Dig in,” Lowe stated. “Don’t worry about how much you want.”

I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach when I sat on the couch in the television room with Cole, Scott, and Lowe. I’d grabbed four slices knowing full well one slice would hurt my throat to the point nothing would soothe the ache away. Yet the smell was delicious, and my stomach kept rumbling then tensing with pain, because I’d gone too long without a proper meal.

“So, what sports do you like, Lyra?” Scott asked, grabbing the remote before kicking back in the leather recliner only a few feetfrom where I sat on the couch. I didn’t dare pull the lever on the side. For sure I’d have a full-blown asthma attack the minute I leaned back.

“I like college football,” I said with a shrug, testing my throat and my stomach with the pizza. The first bite went down easy and didn’t cause much pain. I’d take it as a win. “Though, high school is more popular where I’m from. Talk about parents acting like their kids are playing in Super Bowls every year. Competitive too.”

Cole whistled. “A woman after my own heart. Did you go to the games?”

“It was required,” I said. “Band’s kind of mandatory. If you didn’t have a sport, you were either a cheerleader, color guard or band member.”

“Oh yeah?” Scott glanced in my direction. “What did you play?”

“Clarinet,” I answered before swallowing another small bite.

“College football it is then,” Cole said. “Find us a game, Scott.”

He frowned. “It’ll be one from last week.”

Good thing I hadn’t watched a game in a long time, so it didn’t matter when the match was played. I took a sip of my drink and relaxed into the couch, reminding myself to keep elevated so as not to put pressure on my chest.

“So,” Lowe asked while Scott queued up a game, “how many classes do you have this semester?” His stormy gray eyes pinned me in place. Maybe I should pinch myself. The thought struck my brain as I glanced at them. Sure, Lowe was older than Scott and Cole, but he gave off older brother vibes with the familiarity they had. Plus, the intensity in their gazes, almost as if they waited on bated breath to hear what I had to say, unnerved me.

“Five, Monday thru Thursday with Friday as a study day,” I answered. The quicker I got my pre-requisites out of the way, the better off I’d be. “Why?”

“Would you be willing to take on a work study in the library with me?” Lowe lifted the bottle of beer to his lips to take a drink, and I swore I could feel his lips on mine. What the fuck is wrong with me? I think the steroids ate my brain.

“Um...”

“Look at it this way,” he said, still holding his beer, “you’ll have extra money for items you need. You’d have a place to study if you didn’t want to be here all the time, and all the books you could ever want to read at your fingertips.”

Well, when he put it that way. “What’s the pay?” Did that sound greedy? No. Greedy was staying under the roof of a professor who didn’t have to accept a student, eating their food and using their power and water, while the college figured out a permanent solution for all the unhoused students, without contributing to household chores. “Do I have to report the information to financial aid?” I didn’t want to mess up my ability to pay for school, because I felt guilty for sharing private space with a person I didn’t know.

“You’ll report the job to financial aid,” Lowe said, “but considering the circumstances I don’t believe it will go against your grant money. This was a disaster, not you making money for the hell of it or dropping classes.”

A whistle blew in the background as cheers rose in the crowd before the game began. “I’d like that. I should tell you though, my skills with the Dewey Decimal System are abysmal.”

Lowe laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.”

“Yeah,” Cole said, “at least there’s not a card catalogue for the library.”

I’d seen those a few times at our local small-town library. The behemoth of a multi-drawer unit, I didn’t know what else to callit, sat in the middle of the foyer area of the library and wrapped around the front counter in a curl.

“You three don’t even understand half the cruelty of those drawers,” Lowe muttered. “Let alone training on them and learning how to label books. Nor what it’s like should someone dump them out on the floor for shits and giggles.”

“Whoa,” I murmured, “when did you start?”

“Middle school,” he said.

Scott chuckled. “Nerd.”

Lowe flipped him off. “Numbers have always engaged my brain. It’s why I’m efficient at my job.”

“I feel a bit inadequate here,” I said, not trying to garner any sympathy. But they all knew what they wanted to be once they left college. Scott and Cole had the Fire Academy. Lowe had his books. About the best thing I could do was tend to livestock.

“What did you do back home?” Cole asked, before shoving half a slice of pizza in his mouth.

“Worked on the farm,” I said, not sure I could explain my job. Between band and 4H I really didn’t do much else. “I took care of the barn animals while my dad took care of the fields. Like I told Lowe, my family had very traditional ideas of who I should be. Not who I was.”

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