Gift of a Lifetime

Chapter 3: The Perks of Being An Introvert- I

I am an introvert -it runs in the family; my mom was an introvert, my grandparents were introverts, and my dad was an introvert, so that increases the score for me. So even after the friend group was back together, I still went to the library. I enjoyed the fiction, the characters, the conversations, the other worlds, the way I was able to get away from the trauma of dying. The characters I could understand and fall in love with, with their personalities and their looks.

One day at the library I was strolling along in one of the nonfiction isles looking for something new, scanning the shelves for something like history or documentaries, when I found something with both -New York History: Documentaries and Closed Cases. I took the book off of the shelf. It was a big and hardcover nonfiction, and if you ran your hand along the title letters you could feel the pattern.

I found a circular table to sit at, and opened the book gently and slowly, admiring the blue and green gradient from left to right. Turning to the title page, written in beautiful bold and cursive letters: New York History: Documentaries and Closed cases.

As I turned to the table of contents, I heard a familiar voice behind me, "Tommy?"

I turned my head to see Jayden stepping around the corner from one of the isles, hugging a big thick book.

"What are you doing here?" I asked as he walked over and sat down across from me. It was a small table, so our knees were touching under it and I could see the black cover of Purple Skies as he set the book down.

"I just came here because I was bored," he smiled, seeming happy to see me, "I found this and figured I'd reread it. Y'know, analyze each scene and," He seemed at a loss for words, "Theorize.

"Though I have noticed that you're trying to read, so I'll let you be." He began to get up, but I interrupted, reaching for his arm but missing, "Wait," he turned, "We can read together if you want."

"Sure," He gladly sat back down, adjusting his glasses, and began flipping through the pages, taking a brief look every few pages. I was just about to continue when I saw a faint red mark on the left of his forehead, right below his hairline; it looked like a bad bruise.

"Hey, what's that?" I gestured to my own forehead, reflecting where it was. He, in confusion, reached up to feel for it, "What do you mean?" He began reaching in his pockets for his phone, where he got out the camera to look.

"Huh," He wondered, "It must've been from yesterday. I fell asleep in class and banged my head on the table."

"That's a bit odd that it's red, though."

He shrugged in response, returning his attention to his book. I brushed it off -it was just a bruise, I didn't understand why I was so concerned- and continued my research.