Conflict of Interest: A Naturals Fanfiction

Guessing Game

The sneeze permeated the previous silence, causing me to look up from my computer and in the direction of the owner, a little girl with her blonde hair in pigtails holding her mother's hand.  She had on a My Little Pony shirt with a pink pony on it, and she was wearing the most adorable rain boots because of the pouring rain outside.

Thank you Washington.

But those were the kinds of details that flew in and out of my head in less time then it takes for you to say onomatopoeia.  The real details came from observation.

For instance, from the way the girl was clinging to her mom's finger, I could tell you that she was four.  Too old for her mom to be holding on to her, but too young that she wanted her mother's touch. Or that she was looking for the book Clifford.  Or that she wasn't an only child, just the youngest.  So far.

I tore my eyes away from her, even though I had only been staring for about fifteen seconds. Well, thirteen seconds to be exact. 

But who's counting?

I clicked the library computer some more, pretending I was doing something important, even though I had absolutely nothing to do.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the little girl and her mom walking towards me.  The mom reached down and took a book from the girl, setting it on the counter.

I looked up.  Yep.  Clifford.

I smiled at the lady.  "Is this all ma'am?" I asked, taking the book and scanning the barcode.

"Yes," The woman responded curtly and took the book back, not even bothering to smile at me.  Oldest child. Strict parents, possibly having served in the military.  Has at least two brothers.  The information passes through my mind without me even trying.

Things like behavior, posture, facial expressions, personality, they all stood out, beckoning to be read.

So I read them.

The lady took her daughter's hand and brought her outside.  I watched as they walked to a white minivan, and I added one last observation. She was a neat freak.

***

It was almost five, and I had been inside by myself for the past half hour.  When the last person had left, I had picked up my book.

War and Peace.

I was almost done with the book, even having only started it a couple days ago.  After sports, reading was one of my favorite things to do.  Traveling to a new place and time, with powers and mythical creatures, or a historical event, or even being on a different planet, reading was something I had taken to after being introduced to foster care.

Books were always there for you, even when family wasn't.

A movement caught my eye, and I looked outside to see someone walking towards the door. I couldn't help but catch the slight limp, but my eyes were more focused on trying to discern the gender.

The build told me it was a boy, no older than early twenties. The limp possibly came from a sports injury, or maybe an accident.

He walked inside and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down, revealing his brown hair, too short to be considered long, but too long to be considered short. I immediately knew I had overestimated his age and changed my guess to seventeen or eighteen. He smiled and walked over to me.  "Hi."

"Hi, how can I help you?" I inquired, watching as his blue eyes gave me a brief once-over. I willed myself not to blush as he stared at me, hoping I succeeded.

The boy's grin made me want to know what he was thinking about, but job first, I reminded myself.  "Yeah, I'm looking for a book." 

I waited for exactly ten seconds before responding.  "Okaaaay," I dragged out the word, "do you know what it's called?"

I actually had an idea as to what he was looking for, something classic. Maybe Charles Dickens or Shakespeare?

I was waiting for him to give a stupid answer. That's typically the kind of answer teenage boys give people like me anyway.  But I was totally thrown by his response.

"Guess."

Not a question. A demand.  I raised an eyebrow.  "How am I supposed to know?" I asked.  "I've never even met you before."

"Do you think you can't do it?" He teased, and I gritted my teeth to keep from saying something I would regret.

"How am I supposed to know what books you like?" I repeated my earlier question.

"Come on, I'm sure you at least have a guess.  It's just a game anyways, right?"

"Am I giving you a book you haven't read or a book you're thinking of?"

"A book I'm thinking of."

"Fine,"  I gave in. I wasn't the kind of person to back down from a challenge. Something classic.  I thought of authors.  He seemed like someone who liked to make people guess. He wouldn't pick something obvious, so I figured it would be a female author.  I watched him looking around the room, his eyes automatically straying over to the aisle with letters A through F. Classics.....Austen! I was as sure as the author as I was of my own name.  I thought through the list of Jane Austen's books.  Pride and Prejudice was too obvious.  Sense and Sensibility too boring. Emma was too feministic for someone like him, and Persuasion just felt like it was wrong.

"First aisle, second column, top row, fifteenth from the left." I gave him the location of the book.  He gave me a strange look that I hoped was impressed and walked over to the spot I had given.

He pulled out the book I had decided on. Jane Austen's Mansfield Park.

He put it back on the shelf, walked past me with his slight limp, and opened the door.

"Wait!" I called after him. "Aren't you going to tell me if I'm right?" I knew I was, but I wanted him to tell me.

Looking back at me, he said only two words.

"Good game."