Page 31 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

I scan the book and bag it for her and when I look up, the screen of the computer is black. I sigh, capping my anger.This night, I swear.

“Sorry, I have to restart the computer. It will just take a second,” I explain mechanically.

She bobs her head then drops eye contact immediately. If she keeps doing that, I’m going to feel bad. I know I can be harsh, but I don’t want to be like all the other people at school, like everything I work against.Am I being too harsh toward her in my attempts to punish her for my friend?

No, she deserves some punishment for what happened, especially seeing as the school did nothing to her. She didn’t physically harm Sam, but she might as well have. There should be consequences for bullying, even if it is an isolated incident.

She occupies herself by searching through some bookmarks as I unplug the computer and plug it back in. I love my job and my boss, but damn, we need to update these systems.

A few minutes of admittedly awkward silence pass when the screen finally pops back on. In my head, I’m jumping for joy. In just a few, brief minutes, she’ll be out of my hair.

“I’m sorry. I can get it another time. You need to get out of here,” she decides sheepishly and starts for the door. I can’t help but think that if I were any other person, she would make them wait. Not sure what has changed in her.

Usually I can’t get her to mind her own business. Tonight, it seems she can’t get away from me fast enough. Has she finally learned her lesson? Or she is ashamed of what she did, and she can’t face me now that I’ve seen her so low.

I scan her quizzically. What is her deal? Is she that torn up over what I said in the hallway? Is she embarrassed I witnessed her crying this afternoon or ashamed everything happened to begin with? A little of both, perhaps. It could be that she is waiting for me to say something about how we were about to close and she showed up anyway, further reminding her of just how little I think of her.

I almost want to let her walk out because I want to go home and don’t care to see her, but if I don’t check her out now, she’ll just be back. She could come in when I’m not here, though. That would be nice.

I let out a long breath. “No, it will only be a moment longer.”

She stops, and I notice her clench a fist. She turns back around. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“No, I don’t mind,” I say in a kind manner. This time, she looks at me, connecting our eyes for a moment, and she smiles.

“Thank you.”

“Yep,” I clip. No need to be too nice and give her the wrong impression. I’m not doing this for her, but for me. I need a job. Anywhere else, I’d ignore her.

I scan the barcode on the book again and place it in a bag.

She fidgets, rocking back-and-forth, foot to foot as we wait for the computer. I’m ready to throw the damn thing out the window and just let her have the book. I tap the counter impatiently, going over the new Born of Osiris song in my head.

“So, photographic memory must come in handy working here,” she states. I look at her, not in the mood for small talk. Yet something about her simple statement intrigues me. She remembered I have a photographic memory? “Do you remember where all the books are?”

“Not all of them. Memory fades. If I wanted to think more about it, then sure, I guess I could,” I say, my voice colder than I anticipated. It’s hard not to be this way around her.

She hums, almost flinches, bracing herself for my abrasiveness. I bring my brows together, cursing. Have I been that fucked towards her? Just as much as I want to punish her for what she did, I don’t want to be that kind of person. I study her as she picks at her nails. I guess she’s done with trying to talk to me.

“WhyThe Outsiders?” I question, trying to seem like less of a dick. I don’t want to be her friend, but I also don’t want someone to flinch, as if I’m going to assault them with my words. She could just be having a dreadful night. Something else could’ve happened to her this evening.

“Huh?” She brings her chin up and looks at me, not expecting me to say anything else, spaced out almost.

“Why this book? Did you not read it in middle school?” I ask again. Maybe if I’m nice to her, she’ll leave me alone at school. Maybe her infatuation with me will vanish when I’m no longer a project for her. What that project is, I’m not sure.

“Oh, um. Well, it’s one of my favorites. My co—” She cuts her sentence off. “Nothing. It’s just one of my favorites.” A sweet, reminiscent smile curves across her full lips, lighting her eyes.One of her favorites? Hard to believe. She doesn’t seem at all like a bookworm, let alone one to enjoy a classic.

I find myself wanting to know what it is she was going to say. “No, go on,” I encourage. She raises a brow, unsure. “The computer is still trying to figure out what it wants to do.” Her smile vanishes. I roll my eyes internally. Insecurity is not a good look on her.And her usual attitude is?“Did something happen to your copy?”

“Yeah, actually. I had a first edition, signed copy that my grandmother gave to me before she passed away. Something about that old worn feeling to a book,” she muses with a gentle smile.

Well, that explains the used section.

“This weekend I was reading through it and the middle fell out. I went to read it this afternoon regardless of its state to… to, uh.” Swallowing harshly, her eyes cast to the floor. She wraps her long, tan arms around her torso and shakes her head, scrunching her face up.

“Anyway, I was reading it and the center pages fell out,” she repeats. “I set it out on the counter to ask my father if there was somewhere we could take it to get it repaired. I thought he had taken it when I went to find it tonight.” She stops, catching me watching her. Her eyes fill with sadness. “Sorry, long story short, it is now somewhere in a landfill.”

The effort she gives to smile, fails.

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