Library Girl

chapter four

CHAPTER FOUR

THE FOURTH HOUR

"Really? I would've never guessed you were a Vermont guy."

"Yep, born and raised. You?"

"I'm from here. From Mass."

Emilia was sprawled on the cool tiled floor that was probably littered with dust mites. The shelving of the books had finished long ago. Her unkempt hair framed her face, the ringlets bouncing with her every move. She blew her bangs off of her forehead out of the corner of her mouth. Her arms and legs were spread like she was doing a horizontal jumping jack, and Nick was making a paper airplane with some of the printer paper.

"I see that. You have a little bit of a weird accent."

"Weird accent? What are you talking about?"

"You pronounce things weird. Like some of your vowels."

"That's rude," she said, squinting her eyebrows and pursing her lips.

"No, no, I think it's funny. Not funny, I mean, endearing. I like it," he floundered, his fingers fumbling with the creasing.

She laughed. "Nick, I was just joking."

"Oh, okay. Sorry, I - I thought you were actually made for a minute."

Emilia almost laughed at his awkwardness. He was shifting in his chair, scratching at the back of his neck. "You're fine. My mom has a strong accent. She's from Boston, so maybe you can hear that."

"Cool."

"Yeah."

She cleared her throat and grimaced at the current direction of the conversation. Emilia stretched out her shirt, adjusting her position on the floor. "So, uh- you said you're taking Logic, right?"

"Yeah. I suck at it."

She laughed, her stomach rising and falling. "How do you suck at philosophy? It's mostly all conceptual, like, what you believe in the world."

He shrugged, creasing the paper down the center. "You'd think. I wish it were more discussion based."

"I get that," Emilia said. "Stuff like that trips me out, but it's interesting to think about."

"What stuff?" Nick prodded. "Like, thinking about life and death?"

Emilia grew quiet, and folded the two corners towards the middle. "Well, I mean, yeah. But it's less black and white than that."

"I guess. Does death scare you?" he asked. She didn't respond. Nick sat up, his hands clasped in his lap. "Okay, think about this. You walk into this room; in front of you is a door, and behind you is a window. If you shut the door, the window opens. But if you open the door, the window shuts."

"I'm following."

"Okay. How do you feel in this room?" Nick pointed the plane at an opening in one of the bookshelves and launched it.

"I feel trapped," she responded, her eyes blinking up at the ceiling above her.

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."

"Interesting? What's interesting?" Emilia said as Nick got up to fetch his airplane.

"I don't know, I just always think I'd feel calm in the room. There's always something open, you know?" He bent the nose of the airplane back into shape as Emilia rested her head against the tiles once more, her curls fanning her face. "It's supposed to be a representation of how you feel about death. If you're at peace with it or not."