I Have Nowhere Else to Turn

Chapter Seven

The sight before her could only be defined as glorious; it was a complete double-decker, clearly special ordered and/or handmade slidable book shelf. Immediately she recognized some of the titles on it. Le Morte D'Arthur by Sir Thomas Malory, The Four Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas (whom Lafayette loved), and Les Miserables by Victor Hugo all in their original French language. Then there were more modern books and classics of all countries and times all mixed together in apparently alphabetical order.

And that was only the first layer.

Thomas shot her a nervous look, afraid she would go run to Stupid One (Mulligan) or Stupid Two (Laurens) to do exactly what he just said not to do. "And refrain from molesting them with your eyes, please. I would like them to remain as clean as possible."

Again, Alex snorted, and seemed to ignore him, continuing to greedily stalk them.

Why did it even surprise him anymore?

"This was a present from my father when I turned eighteen a few years back and knew how crowded dorms rooms are and how...protective I am of my books. This is only a few shelves worth of what I have at home, but it will make do until I get my own home." 

Not moving her eyes from the banded and inked papers, Alexandra asked in a slightly revered tone, "How many books are on this thing?"

Having memorized the exact number because, well, the possibilities in the phrase 'what if' made him extremely paranoid, Jefferson hesitantly answers, "Eighty-five, exactly."

Still standing freakishly stone-like, Alex murmurs something so quietly that Jefferson can't hear him.

"Pardon?" He asks, almost kindly.

"Can I...do you mind if I pick one up?" She sounded vulnerable and Jefferson wasn't going to throw that back in her face.

He wasn't that big of a jerk.

Besides, why else did she think he would show her? To torture her?

Never mind. Don't answer that.

"Yeah, just be careful."

Regaining herself, she rolled her eyes and answered in a way that could've dang near been described as playful. "'Cause I'm totally one for harming books." 

"Shut up," He answered, equally relaxed.

Smiling to herself, Alex didn't answer but squatted down so she could better browse through the books.

If he had read her right, he may have just gained a small bit of that ever increasingly valuable trust that he so wanted to own.

If she was anything like him, it wouldn't take her very long to find a book, given the fact she was interested in learning about everything she could get her hands on. For example, one time in class, he had remembered her saying to George Washington for some reason unknown to him that the continent of Europe is 2,600 miles long and 2,800 miles broad.

What sane person knows that?

And he was right. It took her about five minutes before she was pulling a worn copy of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens out of place, nearly petting the cover lightly with the pads of her fingers.

"I read this book when I was in fourth grade." There was a pause that was clearly filled with reminiscence before she moved on with a small clearing of her throat. "If you still are determined to have me read, is this alright?"

Sometimes Jefferson was surprised by just how...human she could be. The way she wrapped herself in brashness and loud-mouthed intelligence made him forget that she wasn't Superman.