Page 5 of Teach Me to Laugh

“Nope.”

“Amara.”

“Maddy.”

“Amara,” I could literally hear every note of condescending disappointment in each letter of my name. “Let’s be considerate to the fact that you’re renting from someone.”

“I can always paint it back when I leave.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yes it is.” I shrugged, seeing the issue, but choosing to ignore it. “The only point worth fretting over, anyhow.”

She shook her head. “You tread the line of impossible.”

“Babe,” I feigned offence, only to admit. “I am impossible.”

“Amara.” She gives me that tone again—the disappointed one that had my hackles itching to rise. “If you ask him, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind. Besides, isn’t it his Dad’s condo?”

“I don’t know.” That was a lie and we both knew it. We both knew Beckett had a wicked deal with his Dad that as long as he was going to school, his rent in his gorgeous condo was paid for.

I wish I had parents.The thought was so sudden; I felt a little taken aback and a lot shaken.

“Just . . .” She sighed heavily and I felt an odd tickle of discomfort. At myself. Odd, I thought, that I didn’t want to disappoint Maddy.

“Just what?”

“Just don’t ruin a good thing, okay?”

“A good thing?”

“With Beckett.”

Okay, my hackles had officially risen. “I don’t have anything with Beckett.”

“You do, Amara, and you know it.”

“All right,” I swung into my seat and started to pull the door closed. “I’ll chat with you later when you’re not being entirely ridiculous.”

Maddy didn’t reply. But she did fold her arms over her chest. And then she gave me the “Maddy” eyes. The ones that make a girl feel all horrible and bad. Seriously, whenever the woman decided to move forward with her life in the dating world, married, and had kids; she’d have no need to practice “mommy” eyes. She already had those down.

I started my car, and as I forced my eyes to the windshield and away from my friend, shifting the car into gear, my foot hit the pedal.

“Feeling a little tense?” Joel queried, handing the cart of books to me. “I’ll man the desk. Too much interaction with people and you’re known to blow.”

“Ha. Ha.” I snatched the cart as he tossed me an adorable “Joel” grin.

I could hear his laughter as I scooted away from the front desk, disappearing into an aisle of books. There was something peaceful about stocking books. I’d been young when I found my first love. A love of reading.

It was my first love and as all first loves go, it was intense and lasting.

When I’d first started university, I’d taken more of a wide approach, as I’d not quite known what I wanted from life. Andthen I found the Library—and I knew. I wanted to be a Research Librarian. I wanted to work in a grand Library with thousands upon thousands of books.

There was nothing like a building full of books, with the scent of old and new paper, ink, and leather. There was nothing like the silence captured by the written word. There was no love quite like the love one holds in their soul when they love books.

At first, I’d thought that I wanted to help the kids who were like me: kids who were lost to a system that’s too crowded for proper or true care. But then I realized that I wasn’t fit for such a career. Seeing all those children in situations I could never properly control would break me. Living day in and day out worrying would only make everything I’d tried to bury bubble up to the surface, and quite possibly boil over.

So I changed the path I’d been on after a few months of indecisive worrying to focus on becoming a Research Librarian. This decision happened shortly before last year ended so I was beginning this year with a fresh goal, and new classes.

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