Blue Money | Nick Robinson

Chapter Fifteen: Mend

When I was six years old I had a tea set.

The cups were white with paintings of pink flowers on them. The little plates had yellow ones and the spoons were so shiny I could see my reflection in them.

I used to take juice boxes and squeeze all the juice out so I had something to drink out of the cups since my mom would never boil me any water for tea. I used to think it was because she didn't want me to burn myself but then I got older and realized it was because she just didn't feel like it.

I wanted to drink tea out of the cups so one day I climbed the counter, teacup in hand to look for tea. I almost fell and I ended up dropping the cup. I cried for three hours.

I sat there and tried to shove the pieces back together, trying to mend it, put it back together like doing a puzzle. My fingers ended up bleeding because the tiny shards cut my skin open.

I'm the teacup.

I'm six year old me again.

The weeks pass by with a heavy weight on my chest that's Savannah's absence. Time flows like a jagged piece of broken teacup; irregular and melancholy.

Christmas Eve sneaks up on me and as the school empties out even more I become more lonely. I haven't spoken to Nick. I haven't done anything about Layla. Dawn and Eileen are the only ones that can get me to speak anymore. I'm 100% focused on schoolwork, doing extra credit, writing more than the given amount of words on essays. I am trying desperately to hide from the fact that I am unhappy.

My parents don't even notice when I call them, my fake cheery voice plastered on and crackling through the phone like a bucket of ice cold fakeness; I'm not surprised that they let me stay at school for christmas. I don't want to go home. I don't want to feel unwanted. Here at school, I'm a little less of a burden.

I've been spending almost all my time in the library. It's an abounding space with copious amounts of books on everything you could ever need. It smells like sandalwood and paper, the comfort of it keeps me warm. The chairs are decadent and soft and I often curl up on them, staying for hours with a book in my hand. I sometimes fall asleep by mistake and I'm awoken by Mrs. Lyle who becomes a sort of friend over my weeks in library.

Mrs. Lyle is in her late 40s, very short even when she wears heels, her dark black hair is cut sharply by her square jaw, she wears round glasses that make her look like a scared owl and always carries at least two pencils on her. She smells like menthol and candy canes.

She asks me to watch the library over christmas break. I oblige since it's rarely a time where there is more than one person in the vast space.

We spend the week before christmas with her showing me everything I need to know. How to keep everything organized and how to work the computer. It's all easy and I'm pleased with the much needed distraction. I should make Mrs. Lyle a thank you card one day.

The weather outside is on the verge of snow and I look out one of the lavish library windows out into the frozen grass and trees. It's warm in here.

Today has been slow and I stroll around the library, organizing books and restacking them. The library is two stories, the second half being a sort of loft with a view looking down on the front desk and large double doors.

I'm standing up on the second story when the doors open, much to surprise.

and the second surprise is that Miles is the one that's now standing in front of the doors that shut with a soft slam.

He notices me right away and we wave to each other. I'm taken aback to see him in here, it's rare that anybody strolls into the library but especially people like Miles.