Earthbound
Page 16
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He looks totally at home among the stacks of books.
And totally charming.
I swallow, remembering the reason I’m here.
As soon as Benson sees me, his mouth closes and I catch a strange, melancholy look in his eyes before his lopsided smile erases it. I need to remember that he’s worried about me. That I’m giving him even more reasons to worry about me. Benson is so constant, so mellow, it’s hard to remember that he’s one of those guys whose emotional river runs deep.
I walk over, trying to avoid eye contact with Marie before she can give me a chirrupy greeting and start asking about my day. I don’t have time for her tonight.
“Hi, Marie,” I toss off quickly without looking directly at her, then turn to Benson. “I really need to find that book before the library closes. It’s in the back, right?” I add meaningfully.
“Yeah, I’ll show you,” Benson says, eyeing me quizzically. He puts one hand on my shoulder and steers me toward the far end of the library, where no one hangs out—not that there’s more than a handful of people here now anyway. And most of them are preteens crowded around the computers.
I head to the middle of a shadowy aisle—after checking that no one is browsing—and run my fingers along a variety of spines—newish paperbacks, crumbly ancient hardcovers. I don’t think this library ever gets rid of their books. Any of them. There’s a single-bulb light fixture above us and it illuminates dust motes swirling in a tiny breeze from the heater.
I feel fluttery now that the nerves are starting to wear off, and I attempt to cover up my awkwardness by pulling a tube of ChapStick from my pocket and reapplying it.
“Oh, hey, that reminds me,” Benson says, digging into his own pocket. “I remembered to bring your other one.”
I look up into Benson’s face. “What?”
“Your ChapStick. I found it in my car after I took you home the other day. I brought it for you. Now you’ll have two.” He holds out a tube of cherry-flavored ChapStick, identical to the one in my hand, and grins. “Double your pleasure, double your fun.”
“Not mine. I need to get a new one, but I haven’t yet.” I look up at him with one eyebrow raised. “Must belong to one of your girlfriends,” I add, trying to sound cheerful while wondering if Dana finally succumbed to Benson’s many charms.
Not that it matters.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
“No, it was on the seat after you left,” he insists, still holding it out. “It must have fallen out of your pocket.”
I don’t know why he’s pushing this. “Benson, I’m not going to take some other girl’s ChapStick; that’s gross. This one’s mine.”
He’s looking at me funny. “But—”
“It really doesn’t matter, Benson. Just throw it away; I have to talk to you now.”
“Your loss,” he says, and tosses it in the air. It spins several times before he catches it. “You should switch to a new brand anyway. You’ve been complaining this stuff doesn’t work anymore.”
“It’s just the salt in the air,” I say, putting the cap back on my ChapStick. The one from my pocket. The one I know hasn’t touched anyone’s lips but mine.
Technically, if he made out with her before she put some on, Benson’s germs could be on there too. It makes my stomach feel funny, and I don’t like the simmering feeling. I twist the ChapStick in my fingers just to have something to do.
And maybe so I don’t have to look at Benson.
My fingers clench around the plastic tube for an instant, then the space where it had been is empty and my fingers touch together. “Holy crap!” I jerk my hand back.
“What?” Benson asks without looking at me, tossing the ChapStick again.
“It’s gone!”
“What’s gone?”
“The ChapStick!”
There’s a slight hesitation before he shrugs. “Look on the floor.”
“Benson!”
“What?”
I wait for him to look at me. “I was holding the ChapStick, and then it was gone.”
His face is a mask of confusion and he opens his mouth to speak, then closes it and just stares at me. Looking for something in my eyes.
“It disappeared, Benson,” I say, struggling to keep my breaths from turning into ragged gasps. “I was holding it and it literally disappeared.”
Another few seconds of silence pass before Benson swallows and holds the other tube out to me with a half grin. “Well, now you have another one.”
“Benson—”
“Jeez, Tave,” he snaps. “It’s just ChapStick. Take it or don’t, but it’s not mine.”
His sudden flare of temper shocks my thoughts and a second later I realize my cheeks are wet. It’s not crying exactly, but the tears are pouring from my eyes as though my emotions are leaking out. Good, bad, terrifying, exhilarating. I’ve just had too much today and now I’m overflowing.
And embarrassed. I’m completely out of whack.
I snatch the stupid ChapStick from Benson—I’ll throw it away later—then open my purse, looking for one of the many packs of tissues I keep in there. Since my parents died, I cry randomly in public on a pitifully frequent basis.
When I sniff, Benson looks up and his whole face crumples in regret. He reaches out, hands finding my shoulders. “Aw, Tave, I’m so sorry. I’m a total jerk. I—”
And totally charming.
I swallow, remembering the reason I’m here.
As soon as Benson sees me, his mouth closes and I catch a strange, melancholy look in his eyes before his lopsided smile erases it. I need to remember that he’s worried about me. That I’m giving him even more reasons to worry about me. Benson is so constant, so mellow, it’s hard to remember that he’s one of those guys whose emotional river runs deep.
I walk over, trying to avoid eye contact with Marie before she can give me a chirrupy greeting and start asking about my day. I don’t have time for her tonight.
“Hi, Marie,” I toss off quickly without looking directly at her, then turn to Benson. “I really need to find that book before the library closes. It’s in the back, right?” I add meaningfully.
“Yeah, I’ll show you,” Benson says, eyeing me quizzically. He puts one hand on my shoulder and steers me toward the far end of the library, where no one hangs out—not that there’s more than a handful of people here now anyway. And most of them are preteens crowded around the computers.
I head to the middle of a shadowy aisle—after checking that no one is browsing—and run my fingers along a variety of spines—newish paperbacks, crumbly ancient hardcovers. I don’t think this library ever gets rid of their books. Any of them. There’s a single-bulb light fixture above us and it illuminates dust motes swirling in a tiny breeze from the heater.
I feel fluttery now that the nerves are starting to wear off, and I attempt to cover up my awkwardness by pulling a tube of ChapStick from my pocket and reapplying it.
“Oh, hey, that reminds me,” Benson says, digging into his own pocket. “I remembered to bring your other one.”
I look up into Benson’s face. “What?”
“Your ChapStick. I found it in my car after I took you home the other day. I brought it for you. Now you’ll have two.” He holds out a tube of cherry-flavored ChapStick, identical to the one in my hand, and grins. “Double your pleasure, double your fun.”
“Not mine. I need to get a new one, but I haven’t yet.” I look up at him with one eyebrow raised. “Must belong to one of your girlfriends,” I add, trying to sound cheerful while wondering if Dana finally succumbed to Benson’s many charms.
Not that it matters.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
“No, it was on the seat after you left,” he insists, still holding it out. “It must have fallen out of your pocket.”
I don’t know why he’s pushing this. “Benson, I’m not going to take some other girl’s ChapStick; that’s gross. This one’s mine.”
He’s looking at me funny. “But—”
“It really doesn’t matter, Benson. Just throw it away; I have to talk to you now.”
“Your loss,” he says, and tosses it in the air. It spins several times before he catches it. “You should switch to a new brand anyway. You’ve been complaining this stuff doesn’t work anymore.”
“It’s just the salt in the air,” I say, putting the cap back on my ChapStick. The one from my pocket. The one I know hasn’t touched anyone’s lips but mine.
Technically, if he made out with her before she put some on, Benson’s germs could be on there too. It makes my stomach feel funny, and I don’t like the simmering feeling. I twist the ChapStick in my fingers just to have something to do.
And maybe so I don’t have to look at Benson.
My fingers clench around the plastic tube for an instant, then the space where it had been is empty and my fingers touch together. “Holy crap!” I jerk my hand back.
“What?” Benson asks without looking at me, tossing the ChapStick again.
“It’s gone!”
“What’s gone?”
“The ChapStick!”
There’s a slight hesitation before he shrugs. “Look on the floor.”
“Benson!”
“What?”
I wait for him to look at me. “I was holding the ChapStick, and then it was gone.”
His face is a mask of confusion and he opens his mouth to speak, then closes it and just stares at me. Looking for something in my eyes.
“It disappeared, Benson,” I say, struggling to keep my breaths from turning into ragged gasps. “I was holding it and it literally disappeared.”
Another few seconds of silence pass before Benson swallows and holds the other tube out to me with a half grin. “Well, now you have another one.”
“Benson—”
“Jeez, Tave,” he snaps. “It’s just ChapStick. Take it or don’t, but it’s not mine.”
His sudden flare of temper shocks my thoughts and a second later I realize my cheeks are wet. It’s not crying exactly, but the tears are pouring from my eyes as though my emotions are leaking out. Good, bad, terrifying, exhilarating. I’ve just had too much today and now I’m overflowing.
And embarrassed. I’m completely out of whack.
I snatch the stupid ChapStick from Benson—I’ll throw it away later—then open my purse, looking for one of the many packs of tissues I keep in there. Since my parents died, I cry randomly in public on a pitifully frequent basis.
When I sniff, Benson looks up and his whole face crumples in regret. He reaches out, hands finding my shoulders. “Aw, Tave, I’m so sorry. I’m a total jerk. I—”
