The bell rang, dismissing the class. I heaved my bag up before following the mob of students out the door. I then steered myself away from the group of kids, and started towards the library. I wasn't getting tutored, I wasn't behind in my grades. Quite the opposite in fact. I was in the top five students of every class. I had never gotten anything below a C, let alone failed a test. So, I came to the library to read, and nothing else. I could do it in peace here. In the quiet. It was too hard at home, to distracting. All the screaming, shouting, arguing. I knew my parents were getting divorced. It was obvious, at least to me.
I sighed as I dropped the pile of books that were cradled in my arms onto a desk. Some were science, engineering, others just fiction. I even grabbed a biography for a change. I untied my ponytail, letting my dark hair fall around my shoulders, shielding my face from the weird looks aimed in my direction. I pushed my glasses higher on my nose, before quickly glancing at the silent clock on the far wall. It read 2:30. I had convinced my parents to let me go to a school that finished rather early. Not to get home sooner, but to stay and read for longer. I opened the non fiction books first. I always allowed myself to read fiction, so long as I learned something before hand. It was my way of getting through books a little slower, making them last just a little longer. Hours passed as I then drowned myself in stories of other peoples lives. Stories of supernatural occurrences, big battles, love triangles. People came and went, most were studying, some getting tutored, but not many just reading.
The library slowly emptied, until the only people left was the cheerful old librarian, a boy surrounded in piles of books to my right- who I vaguely remembered as being called David- and me. I sneaked a glance at the books the boy was reading. My eyes widened as I saw books titled Advanced Calcus, Topology and Conic Sections. We were only in the ninth grade. You weren't meant to learn calcus at age 15. It was absurd. Most adults don't even have a proper understanding of it. Even I only knew the basics, and I was obsessed with school. I went back to my own books, realising I must have been staring. However, I could not focus on the words. I did not absorb the information as I usually did.
I took my phone from my pocket. There was a message from mum. I opened it, already knowing what it was. It read: I'm really sorry honey but your dad and I aren't getting back till late, there's money on the bench for you to order pizza. Love you xxx.
I sighed. My parents were doctors. Well, my father was, my mother was a nurse. That's how they met, via work. If only they could be as close as they used to be, I thought sadly.
I shadow fell over me, distracting me from my thoughts. I looked up to find the librarian I had gotten to know so well, standing beside me.
"We close in a few minutes," she said, tapping her silver watch, "but, I think I can trust you to close up if you want to stay a little longer. Just put the keys on the wall in the staff room once you've locked up."
She gave me a smile, her gold tooth glinting in the light of the candle lit lamp on the table.
"That would be great Mrs. Jenkins," I said, relieved I could stay away from home a little longer, even if there was nobody there, "I'll probably be heading back at around five thirty, is that ok?"
"Of course. But haven't I told you before you can call me Margret?" she said, while handing me the keys,
"Yes you have Mrs. Jenkins, and you are a stranger to me, remember, so I don't know your name?" I said,
"Ah yes, you saw nothing, heard nothing. This conversation never happened," she grinned at me, the wrinkles around her eyes crinkling as I tapped my nose.
I went back to my fiction, this time, reading happily. I read for a long time, enjoying the thrill of being able to forget my reality. I loved being able to surround myself in a whole different world, with different people, different problems. The clock ticked as five thirty-neared. I suddenly jerked my head upward, remembering the clock made no noise. Yet there it was. The ticking sound. Tick, tick, tick. I looked around the room. There were no other clocks. Nothing that would make a ticking noise. Just isle after isle of books, desks, and a small snack bar. I started to get slightly annoyed. Not knowing what that noise was, it was driving me crazy. I glanced at the boy. He was still doing his math, obviously unaware of the ticking. I cleared my throat. He didn't seem to notice.
