By Your Side

  The second he left me alone, I ran back down the stairs and past the glass doors. If he was armed, I wanted to be too.

  I tucked myself behind a shelf in the back stacks. My breath was heavy and uneven and I couldn’t see a thing. I reached in front of me and grabbed the biggest book I could find. Worst-case scenario, I could hit him over the head with it.

  “Hello?” he said from across the room.

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Where are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. You want to talk? Talk.” If I acted tough, maybe he’d think I was.

  His voice became louder, clearer, so he must’ve been walking toward me. “There’s no reason to be scared of me.”

  Why couldn’t he just stay across the room? We didn’t have to be within spitting distance to talk.

  As I went to take a step back, my knee hit the shelf and one book and then another slid to the ground with a thud. I tightened my grip on the book I held and took off for the door. He was faster, though, and cut me off. I held the book over my head.

  “Stop,” I said.

  He took a step closer. I threw the book at him. He dodged it. I picked up another from a nearby shelf and threw it. It hit his shoulder.

  He held his hands over his head. “Really?”

  “I already called the cops,” I said.

  He cussed.

  I threw another book. “So just leave me alone. They’ll be here any second.”

  We were closer now, one of the lamps I’d turned on earlier glowing to our right. That’s when I realized I recognized him.

  I gasped. “Dax?”

  “Do I know you?”

  I must’ve still been in the shadows.

  In relief, I lowered the book I held. Dax Miller wouldn’t have been my first choice of guys I’d want to be locked in a library with. In fact, if I could choose any guy from my high school, he probably would’ve been the last. His reputation wasn’t exactly stellar. There were stories about him. Lots of stories. But he wasn’t a stranger. And I wasn’t scared of him, so I immediately relaxed. “You go to my school.”

  I wasn’t sure he knew me like most people at school did. I was on yearbook and was constantly snapping pictures so I was everywhere all the time. It was hard not to be well known when I had to be involved in so many events. But I’d never taken his picture. He wasn’t involved in anything. Well, at least not anything school-sponsored.

  I took a small step forward, into the soft glow of lamplight, so he could see me more clearly.

  Recognition crossed his face as he took me in, from my shoulder-length light-brown hair to my black wedge boots, then back up to my eyes. He didn’t seem to like what he saw. “Did you really call the cops?”

  “No.” I ran my hands over my pockets. “I don’t have a phone.”

  His eyes skimmed over my pockets as if he didn’t believe me, then he nodded once and headed toward the bag he’d dropped next to a chair.

  I followed after him. “Do you?”

  “Do I what?” He unzipped his bag.

  “Have a phone.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  I stared at his bag, not sure he was telling the truth. “I just need to call my parents. They’re probably worried sick about me. Nobody knows where I am.” At least that’s what I was assuming since nobody had come back. “I would just use it to tell them where I am.”

  He pulled a sleeping bag from his duffel and spread it on the floor. “I don’t have a phone.”

  He brought a sleeping bag to the library? He wasn’t trapped here like me. He’d planned on staying all along? “But you’re not homeless,” I said.

  “I never said I was.”

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  He crawled into his sleeping bag and then reached up and turned out the light.

  “Why were you worried about me calling the cops anyway? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “Can you keep it down? I’m trying to sleep.”

  If my whole body didn’t feel like Jell-O I might’ve kicked him, but instead I stumbled to a chair, sat down, and put my head on my knees. This shouldn’t have surprised me. Dax was secretive at school, a loner—why would I expect him to tell me his life story now?

  It didn’t matter. It was fine. I’d be fine. At least I’d established Dax wasn’t trying to kill me or hurt me. Even though Dax was . . . well, Dax . . . it was better not being trapped here alone. And he had to have a phone in that big bag of his. He’d brought a sleeping bag, after all. When he went to sleep, I’d look through his stuff and find it. Now that I had a game plan I felt much better.

  My chest slowly relaxed, relieving my burning lungs. This was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to me. It might even be a funny story later. Much later, when I was home with my parents and in my own bed with my nice warm comforter.

  It was cold in here.

  I stretched and then laid my head on the arm of the chair, pretending to go to sleep. I wasn’t sure if he could see me or if he was even watching, but I wanted him to think I was sleeping. Then, when I was sure he was out, I’d find his phone, call home, and this would all be over.

  The clock on the wall read 3:20. My eyes ached from being awake for so long. I wondered what my friends were doing. What Jeff was doing. I’d known Jeff since freshman year, liked him since junior year, and now, in my senior year, had decided it was now or never. We’d both be going away to school the following year, and before we left I’d wanted to see if the tension that hummed beneath the surface whenever he was around would translate into a good relationship.

  Had it only been that morning when he’d stopped me in the hall at school? My mind replayed the exchange.

  “Autumn!”

  I turned, camera in hand, and snapped his picture. He was easy to photograph, his features soft, open, friendly. His smile lit up his whole face, made his green eyes sparkle and his olive skin glow.

  He caught up with me. “You might have more pictures of me than my parents.”

  I probably did. “I can’t help that the camera loves you.”

  “Is the camera asking me out on a date?”

  “This camera goes nowhere without me.”

  He raised his eyebrows like he wanted me to follow through with what I was implying. I wanted to ask him out. So bad. But if I had to be the one doing the asking, it wasn’t going to be in the middle of a crowded school hallway.

  He went on. “So I was thinking about getting a group together to go to the library tonight and work on that history paper Mr. Garcia assigned. You in?”

  I probably should’ve said no, but when offered extra time to hang out with Jeff, I always tried to make it work. “Yeah . . . I want to. I’ll have to talk to Lisa. We’re going up to the cabin with Morgan and Avi.”

  “Let’s go before that, and then on your way up to the cabin we can stop at a campground and have a bonfire to celebrate finishing our papers.”

  I laughed and pushed lightly on his shoulder. “You have this all planned out.”

  “I do. So, you can work on the girls?”

  “Yes. I’ll make it happen.”

  “I knew you would. I’ll ask Dallin and the guys. See you tonight.”

  And he saw me, before he left me locked in a library. If Jeff and I had been trapped here in this library instead of Dax and me . . . that would’ve been fun. He would’ve already figured out how to slide down the wooden stairs or race the book carts down the hall. Jeff was the exact opposite of Dax. Jeff smiled easily and joked often, and when he was around everyone was always laughing. Dax was dark and serious and seemed to weigh down any situation.

  Jeff. Where was he? Had something bad happened? Did he think I ditched out on him at the bonfire? Why didn’t anyone realize I was gone? It didn’t matter. Soon I’d have a way to let everyone know where I was. Soon I’d have a phone.

  CHAPTER 4

  The scene around me was hazy, blurry. The sensation was familiar, but my mind wouldn??
?t clarify what was going on. I was in a cold room with no windows or doors. It was like a big icebox. The second I thought it, the walls became slick with ice, the floor as well. Everything was covered in ice. My teeth began to chatter so hard they hurt. And then a musky scent enveloped me. Like one of Jeff’s hugs. And then Jeff was there, hugging me. The ice room disappeared, replaced by an endless green field. We stood in the middle clinging to each other.

  “I liked you all along too,” he whispered. “I don’t know why it took us so long to admit it.”

  “Because I was scared,” I said.

  “Of what?”

  What was I scared of? Letting someone close? Handing him the power to hurt me? Letting go of control? Possibilities don’t hurt as much as realities. Possibilities are exciting and endless. Realities are final. That had always held me back with Jeff, the thought that if I said how I felt and he didn’t feel the same way back, that would be it. There would be no more “what ifs,” no more “might bes,” no more dreaming.

  Dreaming. That’s what this was. Just a dream. It was all just a dream. I needed to wake up now.

  My eyes fluttered open. Sun shone through the upper windows, lighting the room. Disappointment weighed heavy on my chest. I may have been dreaming, but being trapped in the library hadn’t been a dream. I was still here. Still stuck.

  With Dax. He was no longer lying on the floor. Where had he gone?

  I sat up quickly and saw spots, the sleeping bag slipping off my shoulders as I steadied myself. His sleeping bag. He’d put his sleeping bag on me. I let it fall all the way to the floor and then stared at it lying there useless. I immediately missed its warmth.

  It was eight o’clock and my stomach was tight from hunger. Nobody had come for me.

  “Did the sleeping bag offend you?”

  I let out a short scream. Dax sat in a chair across the room, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. His dark hair was slightly damp and was drying in a thick wave. He had a shadow of growth along his jaw. He held an open book, propped against his chest. The position he was sitting in—one shoulder down farther than the other, the shadows playing on his face creating shapes of darkness, the contrast of the red book against his black shirt . . . something made me wish I had my camera.

  “You shouldn’t sneak up on a girl like that.”

  “I didn’t move.”

  “I know. It was a joke. I just didn’t see you at first. Thanks . . . for the sleeping bag.” A chill went through me, betraying the fact that I still needed it. “I . . . I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “No need for a running commentary.”

  “I was just telling you . . . right.” I stood, pulled down my left pant leg that had somehow ridden up during the night, and went back to the restroom. The toilet seat was cold, and the mirror proved I was in worse shape than I’d thought. Mascara was smudged down both sides of my face, making my hazel eyes look darker than normal. My hair, perfect waves the day before, was now a tangled mess, and three days without face wash was going to cause the world’s worst breakout. I turned on the water and did my best job to clean up the stray mascara and rinse my mouth out with water.

  I finger-combed my hair to acceptable. There was still a kink in my neck from the awkward angle at which I’d slept, and my stomach was not going to be happy with me if I didn’t find food at some point today. I was angry with myself for falling asleep the night before instead of following through with the find-Dax’s-phone plan. Why was he making this so difficult? Why did he care if people knew we were here, anyway? Was he in some sort of trouble with the law . . . again? What had he done this time? I wasn’t even sure what he’d done the first time. Rumor had it that he’d beat up some guy. It wouldn’t surprise me if that rumor had been true.

  I shivered again. I had been so thrilled with my outfit last night—a teal-green, flowy T-shirt, a cute tailored jacket, and a pair of jeans. But it had been warm in the library when we were working. Hot, even. For the hundredth time I wished I hadn’t taken my jacket off and shoved it in my bag. Wished I hadn’t put my bag in Jeff’s trunk. My bag. If I had that this whole thing would be over. Even without my phone I would’ve had everything I needed to last the weekend.

  There had to be food in this place somewhere. The librarians had to eat lunch. A break room, maybe? On the third floor, I found it—a kitchen. There was not only a fridge but two vending machines—one for soda, one for snacks. They were kind of cruel really, the food on display without any way of getting it. I kicked the soda machine as I walked by, thought about reaching up and trying to grab one from the wide slot below, but quickly dismissed that thought. I’d once read a story online where a guy had to be rescued by the fire department because he got his arm stuck in a vending machine.

  The fridge, unlike every other thing in the library, was not locked. It was a huge catering fridge. I’d almost forgotten that people had weddings and events at the library. It really was a big, gorgeous building that had become my prison. I crossed my fingers and opened one of the doors. On the shelf in the middle was the corner of a sheet cake. I wasn’t even sure why anyone would save it—that’s how small it was. But I would gratefully eat it later.

  Behind the next silver fridge door was a clear Tupperware container of who-knew-what, but I could see the dark spots of mold clinging to the sides. Aside from that were two mystery paper bags. I pulled out the first bag with the words DON’T EAT MY FOOD written on the outside in Sharpie and looked inside—an apple and a yogurt, which was over a week expired. Considering the warning on the outside, I had hoped for something more steal-worthy. I took the apple and left the yogurt for later. In the other bag was more Tupperware and a can of soda. I gingerly lifted out the plastic bowl and slowly opened the lid. No mold, but I also couldn’t tell what it was. Pasta? Vegetables? Smelling it didn’t help. That could wait. I took the soda and left the rest.

  In the cupboards I found some coffee cups and split the soda into two. The drawers were free of real utensils, but I found a plastic knife. It immediately broke when I tried to cut the apple in half with it. I’d just eat half and hope Dax wasn’t a germophobe.

  I washed the apple for thirty seconds under warm water, then took a bite. Nothing had ever tasted better. I found some napkins tucked away in a drawer, and when I had eaten my share, I wrapped up the remaining half, picked up the cups, and went back down the stairs to face Dax again. If I could just get him to trust me, I wouldn’t need to sneak into his bag. He’d gladly hand over his phone to me. And he would. I was nice. People liked me. Dax would too.

  CHAPTER 5

  The main library was bright during the day; plenty of windows brought in slanting rays of sunshine. I carried the two mugs by their handles and held out one for him to take.

  “You found coffee?”

  “Coke close enough?”

  He relieved me of one of the mugs and then I held out the apple wrapped in a napkin.

  “What is it?” he asked without taking it.

  “It’s half an apple.”

  “You found half an apple?”

  “I found a whole apple. I ate half of it. I can eat the whole thing if—”

  He plucked it from my still outstretched hand.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He raised his glass to me and took a chug.

  Not even a thank you. “One of the librarians must be an apple thief. The bag where I found it was owned by someone accustomed to having their food stolen. We have now added to the distrust.”

  “I’m sure you’ll replace it later.”

  “Maybe I will.” I made my way back to the chair I had slept in. His sleeping bag still sat on the floor. I stared at it for a long moment really not wanting to have to use it, but the goose bumps on my arms were multiplying by the second, so I swallowed my pride and picked it up. I draped the sleeping bag over my shoulders and sat down, holding my mug between two hands, wishing there was a hot drink insi
de.

  Once this soda was gone we could share a yogurt and some cake later and maybe a mystery dish. I could practically feel my stomach shrinking. Unless . . .

  I looked at the big bag by his feet.

  When I glanced up, he was staring at me. “What do you have in there?” I asked.

  He must’ve known exactly what I had been staring at because he answered, “Not much.”

  “Food? If you were planning to stay the whole weekend, you must’ve brought something to eat.”

  “I wasn’t planning on staying here the whole weekend.”

  “Where were you planning to stay? Why did you end up here?”

  “I was planning to stay somewhere else.”

  I waited for him to clarify, but that was the extent of his answer. “You’re not a big talker.”

  “I talk when I have things to say.”

  “Was that supposed to be insightful?”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be anything but an answer.”

  This was going to be a long weekend.

  He closed the book and placed it on the table next to him, then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Why are you here?”

  I wanted to give him a snarky answer to compete with his responses. Something like, I wanted to eat stolen apples and read books all weekend. But I held my tongue. Maybe if he learned more about me, he’d realize I just wanted to leave. I wasn’t here to ruin whatever plan he’d had when coming here. “I had to pee.”

  He leaned back and picked up his book, as though I really had given him my fake answer.

  “We were here, working on that history project Mr. Garcia assigned. Did you do that yet?”

  He must’ve realized I was actually answering his question, because instead of opening his book he placed it in his lap and shook his head no.

  “Anyway, we were here, a bunch of us, and we stayed past closing to finish our papers. Everyone was leaving, getting in cars, and then I had to pee.”

  “Your friends left you?” Now his expression changed. He was surprised.

  “There were four cars. Lisa thought I was going with Jeff.”

  “Your boyfriend?”