Slow Me Down

Chapter 2

My heart is beating so fast. Why did I run? Why did I skip out like that? Why did she make me come with her? Why did she quit her last job?

I continue to run down the main hall, muffling my whimpers with my hand, trying not to look as pathetic as I feel. Classroom after Classroom whirls by until I finally skid to a stop when I see the entrance to the library. I shuffle in. I walk past rows and rows of literature. Nonfiction, fantasy, science fiction, horror, mystery, and many other genres fill the dark mahogany bookcases. I decide to walk into the horror section. There were shelves upon shelves of books. Everything from Mary Shelley and Edgar Allen Poe to Kendare Blake and Mira Grant exists in this very room.

"How on earth do they have this many books?" I grab a book about a fictional serial killer that seems interesting enough and sit on the nearest beanbag chair. Thumbing the table of contents, I scan through to see if this is a book that I might vibe with.

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'Where could she have gone?' I run through the halls, peeking into every spare classroom.I pass many more hallways before I finally find myself parked in front of the library. This place has always been so warm and inviting to me. All the days I have spent here, doing projects, whispering with friends, studying, and reading everything I could get my hands on. I spend countless hours in this four-walled safe haven. This is how I get away. This room is the only place where I never have to impress anyone. I can be anything I want to be here. I can be a knight. I can be an investigator. I can absorb all these characters and get so engrossed in a book that, on many occasions, the librarian has had to physically throw me out of the library to be able to lock up and go home.

I enter and pass the computers. Looking through a few rows of shelving, I decide to veer off towards one of my favorite sections, horror.

"Mr. Rennet won't mind if I am gone for a while. After all, I am looking for the new girl. For all I know she could be here." I mumble to myself as I grab a book off the shelf and run my fingers along the gold-lined edges of the pages. Edgar Allen Poe. My favorite short stories of all time are in this book. I can only imagine how many hours he spent creating these brief masterpieces. Every time I read a story from him, all I can picture is him cutting open a vein and bleeding his emotions and experiences onto the stationery. I take the book and go look for a comfy spot to hunker down.

I look to see if my favorite chair is available, the only chair that I have been able to form perfectly to me. Every other chair, couch, and cushion in this library is either 10 years too old and stiff like a rock, or a structureless blob of feathers and beans. I would know because I have spent a whole weekend trying out every single chair in this building. No chairs have been able to live up to the old leathery armchair. As I finally pass the 7th bookshelf from the entrance of the library and walk towards my seat, I notice a small female form on the beanbag that rests against my old armchair pal. With her face shoved in the book, I can barely tell who it is. All I notice is her black hair. A half-up, half-down look. A ponytail on the top of her head with long-mostly straight locks covering her back and shoulders. What a unique hairstyle. It seems familiar.

Then it clicks. I recognize that black half ponytail.

"Claudia? Is that you in the bean bag chair, skipping out on school?" I whisper jokingly. The girl slowly takes the book away from her face. She nods, getting up from the bean bag.