Lionheart

Chapter 5

               That same day, during lunch break, Mallory chooses to curse Nick with her depraved presence on his way to the school library. He’s thought of three attempts to shake her off, but as usual, every one of them will just produce undesirable results and give them into even more trouble than what Mallory has already caused.

               Threats might work, Nick muses, and proceeds to test his judgment.

               “If you go one more step near me, I’ll break your ass.“

               But Mallory always, always seems to beat him to the punch. Nick doesn’t know if she just somehow knows him so well, if she’s a quick thinker or if she can fucking read minds.

               Mallory pouts for one second but beams as she says, “In Soviet Russia, ass breaks you,” in her best Russian accent.

               Nick’s eye twitches. He closes both of them to placate his anger at the absurdity of Mallory’s shit excuse for a Russian Reversal joke. He’ll do just about anything so he can forget what he just heard. The hell is even wrong with this kid, anyway? She needs to get shipped off to a place as crass as that rotting thing she calls her brain.

               “Tell me you think that was clever!” She’s laughing, but pauses when Nick doesn’t say anything. “You don’t get it, do you? It means Seth’s—“

               He’s just about to turn around to give Mallory a choice word or two—or a hundred when someone from behind them says, “What about me?”

               Nick looks to the pale ceiling, mouthing, “Jesus fuck.” At the same time, Mallory’s mouth spills a small, awed murmur of “…ass.”

               Seth’s laugh follows Nick as he makes a sharp turn, taking the hallway leading straight to the library at the end of it. “What about it?” There’s a hint of shyness to Seth’s tone that makes Nick want to cringe but laugh dryly at the same time. Seth is anything but shy.

               Their footsteps following down the hall. They’re engaged in a conversation that Nick really can’t care less about until finally (which means jack; they’re not going to stop following him) he reaches the library’s dull, blue double doors. He opens it, finding the sleeping librarian with her cheek pressed against the only wooden desk in the room.

               Someone comes up from behind him, matching his pace carefully. He knows it’s Seth; his footsteps are quieter than Mallory’s.

               There’s a feathery whisper in his ear of “Can we talk?” that’s accompanied by an oddly respectful and timid tug at his blue and white flannel shirt. Seth slips into Nick’s line of vision, provoking Nick to stare him down with narrowed eyes and eyebrows that draw together tightly in a show of vexation. He huffs. “I thought we established that the library isn’t a place for talking.”

               Seth’s unable to use the same argument he used the day before. The library is basically void of people. But he insists. “Please.”

               Nick half-sighs, half-groans after a needlessly lengthy time of reflecting. “Better make it quick,” he warns Seth, occupying the nearest seat. Much to his displeasure, Seth reclines in the chair next to him with his hands inside the pockets of his black hoodie. Meanwhile, Nick looks out of the window a few chairs across from them and above a small, wide bookshelf. It’s drizzling outside, although the sky is less dolefully insipid in comparison to his personality.