The Edge

Chapter 2

Students begin shuffling through the corridors. I hurry into the library and begin turning on computers. I might actually start getting visitors today. As the halls quiet down, I hear a rap on the library door. An unreasonably tall black girl pokes her head into the room. "Hi!" she calls brightly as she spots me. "You the new librarian?" I nod and she practically skips into the library, a ball of energy. She deposits her backpack and bounds up to my side, promptly invading my personal space.

"I'm your first period student helper!" she chirps, towering over me. "It's so cool to be working in here. I can't believe I got picked." Her words pour out in a gush of enthusiasm. "Lots of people want this job because they think it'll be so easy and they won't have to do anything for a whole class period. Not me! I mean, I do want the job, but not because I'm a slacker or anything. I'm honestly a very hard worker. I'm gonna work so hard for you that no other student helper will ever be good enough again, ever. I'm that good."

"Awesome," I drone from my place in her shadow.

She's going to be bubbly, isn't she? Of course she is, since I find that trait thoroughly off-putting. I'm going to be trapped with her and her bubbliness. No one can be happy all the time, can they? You have to have a measure of distrust for the ones that present such a façade; it's a given that they're faking it.

I glance around the room. So far, nothing has been checked in or out, nor are there any befuddled students to assist. I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do with her, but there has to be something for her to do, something to get her to stop ogling me and breathing down my neck.

"Don't worry," she says, as if reading my mind. "A lot of the teachers start throwing homework at us the first week. Can you believe that? Maybe they'll lay off us a couple more days, but Coach Graham and Mrs. Stewart -" She grimaces at the name. "- won't be able to help themselves for long. You'll start getting regulars in here soon."

She proffers her hand and I accept it. Whereas Willoughby's grip was limp, this girl has a firm and confident shake. "Riley Saunders," she proclaims. "Future Junior class president, at your service." She grins at me disarmingly, nothing but good will, and I feel my lips tug back in return. Eh, maybe she won't be so bad.

"Hey, you're a lot younger than the old bat we had in here the last few years. I wasn't going to sign up as a helper, but then she retired. I figured nobody could be as bad as she was. Nobody! I could tell you some stories about that woman!" She waves a hand dismissively. "I know what I called her, but what should I call you?"

"Ms. Sullivan," I reply after a pause. This being my first job out of college, it sounds strange to my ears. Only a couple of my professors referred to me by last name. "Pleasure's all mine, Ms. President." She beams at me and it's a little contagious.

"It's good to see some color in here for a change," she informs me. "This place is white-washed, if you get my drift." She studies my features for a moment. "What are you, Indian or Hawaiian? No, that's too boring. Uzbekistani?"

I smother a laugh; rule number one of school life as an authority figure is to never smile at them for the first month. Be firm and commanding. That's what the principal had told me.

"Not exactly. I had a Thai mother," I reply. "But she was on the dark side." I mimick an evil laugh and then wonder if I've already broken rule number one.

Like my mom, I have bronzed skin, black hair and deep brown eyes that suggest Asiatic heritage. Wes looks more like our father, with only a hint of our Thai background in his eyes and bone structure.

Riley rolls her eyes at me. "So lame," she tells the ceiling.

"Better get used to it," I inform her. "As my apprentice, much lameness will you learn. Come on, let's have a look at this place."