You Are the Shell to My Tortoise | ✓

14

How had I not noticed it before this?

"I'm surprised you didn't look around for it first, considering how short you are."

I said the first thing that came to my mind: "I'm not that short!"

Nolan shrugged, an offhand smirk on his face as he took the book from me. Effortlessly, he pushed it in between the other books on the shelf that I couldn't reach.

"Don't get all huffy just because you're short."

"I'm not huffy because I'm short—and like I said, I'm not that short!"

His eyebrows rose. "Are you sensitive about your height? It's okay that you're short. You just have to learn to use other things to make the best of it."

"You're doing this on purpose," I whispered, following him back. "Don't rub it in."

"Who's rubbing it in? I have to make use of what I have, too," he said, looking back over his shoulder at me.

"Please, tell me all about your tall person woes." I examined the row of books crammed in the trolley.

"If I don't watch where I'm going, sometimes my head brushes against low-hanging tree leaves."

"Does that really happen?" I said, fascinated.

"Frequently." He handed me several books he had just stacked together. "These should all be on the lower shelves in the history section."

"Thanks... You seem really familiar with where everything is," I said, watching him gather up a bunch of books in his own arms.

"I'm here almost every day."

As he walked away towards another bookshelf, I found myself gaping at him. I never pegged him for a bookworm.

Thanks to Nolan's help, the time we spent reshelving the books was greatly shortened. He worked faster than I thought he would, considering how sluggishly he always seemed to move.

"Don't tell me you're also a student helper," I said when we were done with the return trolley. "Because while that would explain this amazing efficiency, it would raise more questions."

He scoffed. "Do I look like I'd make a good student helper?"

I was impressed by his self-awareness.

"Purely judging by capabilities and not by looks, I'd say yes," I said, ignoring the flat stare he sent my way. "What? Is there some sort of a cookie cutter list of how a librarian should look like that I don't know about?"

Nolan responded by turning his back on me and reorganizing the books on the bookshelf. I withheld a laugh, aware of Ms. Johnson's gaze on us from all the way over at her counter.

We systematically combed through each one with unspoken teamwork, with him focusing on the higher shelves while I went through the lower ones.

At the end of the two hours—although I was surprised, because it hadn't felt like that much time had passed—Mr. Jameson came back. He seemed surprised that we had completely cleared the trolley and had done a significant amount of reshelving.

He walked down the different sections and performed a quick check of our work before dismissing us.

"Chelsea, you've always done consistently well in my classes," Mr. Jameson said, turning from Nolan to look at me. "I hope that today's incident was just a one-off; I'd hate to think that someone's been rubbing off on you."

"Again, I'm so sorry, Mr. Jameson! I promise I will never fall asleep in your class ever again," I said, hoping my sincerity would shine through my voice. "I just hadn't slept well the day before. I'll make sure to sleep earlier from now on!"