Growing up an only child certainly had its perks; I didn’t have to fight over the bathroom with anyone, no one ate my food out of the fridge, and I was free to do as I please without any annoying little siblings selling me out. But it also meant that I grew used to being alone from an early age.

At school I had friends in class and every day on the field for practice. We sat together at lunch and usually ended up at someone’s house on the weekends. There was company when I needed it, but it didn’t change the fact that most days I came home to an empty house.

Dad’s office was in the city. He was gone early in the mornings and home late every night. Mum kept shorter hours but between my soccer practice and her work functions, we only saw fleeting glances of one another during the week.

On the rare occasion I wasn’t home alone, it was Mum kissing my cheek on her way out the door, telling me there were leftovers in the fridge, or Dad’s voice radiating authority over a conference call with some company like Decker Petroleum behind the great oak door of his office.

Some afternoons I wandered through the house like a ghost, moving through each room that was so pristine it was hard to believe anyone actually lived here. The silence could get so overwhelming at times, so I found an alternative: the public library.

Technically, the library was an addition of the university’s facilities a few towns over but it was open to the public. It had been built in the 1800s and remodelled in 2012, though the brick and stone architecture remained antiquated. 

No one knew how much I adored the place. There was the ambience of old-world charm, complete with long mahogany tables and overcrowded bookshelves that resembled something out of a Charles Dickens novel. The overhead lanterns now housed modern lightbulbs instead of candles but the appeal was never lost.

The library’s distance from town was fortunate for me as it meant I was less likely to run into anyone I knew there. There was no excuse I could provide if someone from school found me nestled amongst books and dust instead of stirring up a storm on the soccer pitch.

The following Sunday morning, I parked my car and retrieved my book bag from the passenger seat, climbing out and slinging it over one shoulder. The air was cooler today, an overcast sky blocking out the last rays of summer sunshine. Autumn was setting in fast this year, leaves scattered along the sidewalk in tones of orange and gold.  

Climbing the concrete steps, I entered the building and made my way through the large room towards the back. A series of bookshelves formed a barrier between the tables and the windows, making it easier to conceal myself from the random passer-by.

I’d just placed my bag on the floor and pulled out a chair when something – or rather someone – caught in my peripheral vision.

Connor was sitting at one of the large tables in the corner of the library. He was hunched over a book, furiously casting streaks of blue highlighter across the pages of what appeared to be a textbook.

I stood stock-still for a moment, unsure of what to do. Part of me wanted to turn and leave. The last thing I wanted to deal with today was Connor Taylor. If he saw me here, I would never hear the end of his ridicule.

Then again, he was here also. Studying, apparently. Didn’t that cancel out the reason I was here to begin with?

I watched as Connor opened his laptop and began typing notes into an empty document. He was so caught up in his own world that he hadn’t even glanced up once, much less taken any notice of me. 

Maybe I was being dramatic but I felt it justified. All I wanted was a quiet morning in the library without worrying about any problems from the outside world. Dad had been getting on my nerves about asking Esme out, and Mum was only interested in talking about school work given how my first round of assessments were coming up.

A day with nothing but my books was the perfect downtime, and now I couldn’t even have that.

Connor was still typing on his computer across the room. Someone dropped a heavy book on the desk near him and he didn’t even flinch.

His presence baffled me. I’d been coming to this place for years and had never seen Connor here before. Did he come here often? Had he seen me here before and decided it was the perfect place for vengeance? Should I leave before he enacts some scheme and reveals my secret to the rest of my school?

Kicking the chair out, I collapsed into it and began to take out my notebook. I wasn’t going anywhere. This area was secluded enough and as long as Connor didn’t turn around, he wouldn’t even see me.

I began to get started on my own work. My teacher had sent us home with the task of completing a full worksheet on identifying literary devices in the current chapter we were studying of A Tale of Two Cities. I also had a booklet of Maths equations waiting for me as soon I was done.

It wouldn’t be a complete lie to say that I tried to get some work done, but Connor’s presence was throwing off my concentration. I only made it halfway through the worksheet before curiosity got the better of me. Glancing up, I saw Connor was now scribbling something in a notepad. Even from this far I could see the blotches of highlighter left on the side of his hand.

Groaning, I slammed my binder closed and stalked across the room.