“There are no do-overs.” He lifts the counter flap and forces himself through the tiny space between the counter and myself. “And I don’t need your weak apology.” 

“Ouch,” I whisper, drag the last bit of the word out while I turn to watch him. 

He doesn’t go far, just to the other side of the desk to organize the books that need to be returned to the stacks. He presses his cheek to his shoulder when he looks behind himself, and this is the moment I realize that I’m blindly following him. 

“You’re still here,” Maybe-Lyle says in a matter-of-fact tone and starts to move the books into separate piles. He watches me lean against the counter from the corner of his eye. “Ms. Cooper won’t be back for a while.” 

I let my backpack rest against my side on the counter. 

“Why are you, you know, here?” I ask and flail my hands around him, the books, then in the air. 

“I’m the library assistant.” 

“Only seniors can do that. It’s for credits, no?” 

He does that slow blink again, and when he realizes I’m not catching on, he blinks at a normal pace. 

“I am a senior,” he says. 

“What? Oh. I pegged you for, well, younger.” I pause and brush my hand on the side of my head just over my fade. “I guess that explains why you can get away with this.” I wave the same hand over him. “Wait, that came out wrong again. You’re about to bite my head off.” 

“If you don’t have anything to do here, just go.” He points at the tables and chairs. “I’m busy.” 

“Whatever.” I sigh with a nod. “See you around.” 

I get a glimpse of the door swinging open when I walk away and drop my things on a table that’s not too close but also not very far away from the desk. I slide into the chair, stretch one of my long legs out underneath, and instantly regret my choice of seating when I see Giovanni Romero slithering in. 

Giovanni goes right up to the desk, right up to Mr. Anderson’s nephew, and sings, “Lyle!” in the most nauseating tune I have ever had the misfortune of hearing. 

Maybe-Lyle looks up from his book sorting, so I guess that is his name, and Giovanni smiles at him so hard his cheeks go into his eyes. He slips his hands into his own pockets and leans back and forth on his feet. He’s talking when he takes a step closer to Lyle, and Lyle just leans against the counter, folds his arms loosely, smirks. 

They talk for what feels like ages, and I’m so invested in watching that I don’t even get my notebook out to pretend I’m studying. 

Seeing Giovanni be all nice and flirty makes me sick. He’s not that guy. He isn’t all sweet and friendly and easygoing. He isn’t even shy; he flirts with everybody. But Lyle, he doesn’t look like he’s fawning over him, he’s not sinking into his arms or ecstatic for the attention. I can’t tell if he’s actually falling for Giovanni’s serpentine charm or if he’s just playing the game right along with him. 

My staring runs its course when Giovanni laughs at something Lyle said, and his vision falls right in my direction. I groan and drop my elbow on the table, rest my forehead against my palm. Here we go. 

“Evan? That you over there?” Giovanni calls so loudly that everyone in the room looks over. Including Lyle. My first instinct is to wince, but I’m not going to crumble like he wants me to. 

He skips over with his signature smirk, and I don’t move, don’t speak, don’t play into his performance. 

“I never see you in here,” he says and pulls the chair opposite of me out from under the table. He sits backward like a counselor trying to be relatable, and his volume comes way down. “And I don’t want to start now. Is this because of…” He cocks his head to the side. 

He’s talking about 104, and I take a deep breath through my nose. I look past him, and Lyle has gone back to sorting the books albeit much slower than before. 

“Look, Gio, I’m not in the mood today,” I say. “You’ve had your fun, right? I’m not in 104, right? Just leave me alone. You won.” 

I bite my tongue after that lie and look out the windows off to my side. Giovanni didn’t win a damn thing but the prize for being the “Biggest, Widest Asshole In The Universe.” He can’t win if it’s not over, and I haven’t given up on 104. Nor am I going to. Sure, it’s blocked off now, but it’s only blocked off. They aren’t touching it until winter break. The sign on the door says so. 

Giovanni looks over his shoulder and I assume it’s to see if Lyle is still there. He is. Slowly picking up one book after another, looking at the cover, the spine, reading the blurb on the back, and then gently placing it in its designated pile. 

“Hey,” Giovanni says quietly and leans more into the table. It seems like he wants me to meet him in the middle for this weird whispering and—oh, yeah, he does because he leans in even closer when I don’t. “Don’t get in my way. I don’t want you messing this up for me. This time is different.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I lean back in my chair and it squeaks, fold my arm across my stomach and rest the other on top of it to press my palm into my cheek.  

Lyle is getting to the end of his pile, so he’s going even slower. I think he’s looking at us, but from here it’s too hard to tell. I blink, and the gears in my pee wee brain start moving until I put two and two together. 

“If it’s about him, you have nothing to worry about. He hates my guts,” I say. 

“Good. Keep it that way or your problems are going to be more than old, rinky-dink classrooms.” 

Giovanni gets up and pushes his chair in nicely. He slinks back over to Lyle who magically finishes his sorting at the same time our conversation ends. Lyle picks up one of his piles and points at the stacks with his index finger. It looks like Giovanni is insisting on helping, picking up another pile on his own, and taking off for the stacks while Lyle trails closely behind him. 

Lyle looks back over his shoulder, and I’m almost certain he’s watching me while he fades away.