Dead Boys

2

Tobias

So, when three days after I first met Billy, I was surprised to see him again. I assumed he got expelled when I didn't see him around, it was a small school after all, but when he showed up to the library today, it was clear that he got off with nothing more than suspension and a slap on the wrists.

I spend most of my time after school at the library. I used to do track but when Junior year came around, I decided to spend more time on school and when Senior year started, I figured it was too late to join the sport again. Becoming a library help, on the other hand, gave me more time to myself and less time at home without the competitions or the company. At the library, only one other person volunteers, and she works the front desk without so much as a glance in my direction, and most of the people who took library duty as a punishment just show up long enough to do the bare minimum and then left or better yet didn't show up at all.

"Tobias, right?" He smiles when he walks in like we're friends, not just two boys who ran into one another in the principal's office and had one strange conversation. I nod. "Looks like we're gonna spend a lot of time together. I'm stuck here for the rest of the semester at minimum."

"That sucks," I say but he just shrugs.

"I'm not too cut up about it."

I don't know what to say to that. The lighting in here is much more natural than the lighting in the office, catching on his jewelry and his eyes as he moves, and it's horribly distracting. His hair looks slightly more brown here, but his eyes are still black. He takes a seat on one of the wooden chairs next to the window, balancing it on the two back legs and toying with his dog tag absently. I turn my back to him, standing on the small ladder next to the bookshelf to prop up a copy of some forgettable YA novel on the highest shelf.

He starts to whistle underneath his breath, a tune I don't recognize but vaguely reminds me of the gospel that is played in the church sometimes. I try not to let myself be surprised. It could just be my ears playing tricks on me or if it even were a gospel-themed song, then what did it matter to me anyway? But I think if it were gospel, those sweet, nearly hissing sounds between his teeth would wrap themselves around my head like earmuffs, leaving me deaf to the world and all alone with my thoughts with no escape to or from the truth.

"They got you doing anything else?" The words leave my throat before I can even register that they were sitting in my throat as I stared intently at the cheap plywood holding the books in front of me. "Or is it just this?"

There's a Thunk! of Billy's chair legs hitting the carpeted floors. "Nah, since it's my first offense and all that, they sent me on my way. Not that this much of a punishment in itself." I step down from the ladder and he clicks his tongue; I bite mine. "That reminds me, anything I can help out with?"

"There's a couple of boxes in the back marked 'Donations' that need to be sorted out." I gesture towards the front desk. "If you ask Beth, she'll give you the key as long as you say please and then we can start alphabetizing them."

"You got it, boss." Billy gives a two fingers salute, sauntering over to Beth and coming back a box underneath each arm, lifting them effortlessly but the oversized sleeves of his jacket divulge nothing.

He settles the boxes on the ground, kneeling down to open them and I do the same, nearly crashing our heads together in the process. Our hands brush as we separate the paperbacks from the hardcovers and I do my best to ignore the fact that his nails are painted a dark red today. He's still whistling as he works, a different song this time that I feel like I've heard on the radio some time ago. I start a pile of nonfiction books. 

We work quickly together, the two boxes are empty in less than an hour. Billy does his part without question or complaint and fills the usual silence with his soft whistles or shallow taps. Seeing as there aren't any more tasks left to do, I take the softest seat in the whole library, the cushioned chair with the footstool, and take out my homework for Econ and soon find myself doodling in the margins of my notebook rather than actually writing anything down.