Chapter Five – Part 4
In the bathroom, Allison blew her nose into a wad of coarse toilet paper. Then she tried to reclaim some of her face from the ravages of her emotions. She wished she was more into makeup right now. If she had some with her she could cover some of the effects of her near-sleepless night. But all the makeup she had in the world was in the top left drawer of her bureau. It amounted to some eye shadow and two tubes of lipstick; one tube to go with each of her really good dresses.
When she thought about it, the natural look was better. If she wore mascara she'd look like a raccoon right now.
What she did look like was a rather plain-looking blonde who'd spent too much time watching the late movie. She stepped back and forced a smile that didn't look too hideous. At least her hair made up for her face. It was full and fell to just beyond her shoulder-blades. The hair was what kept her from looking like a clone of Marsha Brady.
When she left the bathroom and turned to descend the stairs, she froze.
The main stairs descended in a marble sweep toward the main entrance. The entrance fronted a lobby, all glass and pillars. Ahead were the doors outside. To the right was the main adult fiction area. To the left was the children's room.
Right in front of her, standing in the lobby next to the checkout desk, was Chuck Wilson.
The sight of him, here, crushed her insides into jelly. She couldn't move, and all she could think was the phrase, don't see me, don't see me, don't see me. . .
Her temples began to throb with her pulse.
Chuck looked around the lobby, seeming out of place in the library. His head turned in her direction and Allison felt her heart shrivel in her chest. But Chuck's head kept moving until— seeming to find what he was looking for— he stepped out of her view into the adult area.
Allison made a mad dash for the front door. She stopped only when she saw the white sentries of the anti-theft detectors flanking the exit. She was carrying books in her backpack that she'd wanted to check out.
She backed to the checkout desk, yanking the books out of her bag and fumbling out her library card, wishing the whole process would hurry.
As they ran the books over the de-magnetizer, Allison looked around nervously. Chuck stood there, right in the center of the magazine section, staring right at her.
Allison wanted to collapse.
She could barely take her eyes away from him as she scooped up her books. She shoved her books into her bag and dashed for the exit, not bothering to zip the bag closed.
She made it to the sidewalk and started to cross the street, but it was against the light and a blaring horn made her jump back just in time to avoid being hit by a van. In the passenger window a twelve or thirteen-year-old boy with sandy hair pressed his face to the glass, seeming to stare right at her.
Then the van was across the intersection and Allison stumbled back onto the sidewalk. She turned away from the street and the library and began walking away, fast.
She had hardly gotten half a block before she heard a terrifyingly familiar voice say, "Allison! Allison Boyle!"
She turned, slowly, as if she was in a dream.
Chuck was there, on the top steps of the library, looking down at her. He was tall and thin, graced with unruly black hair. There was too much shadow on his face for a eighteen-year-old. He wore the same type of clothes he wore at the costume party— wide belt, jeans, boots, flannel shirt rolled to the elbows. The cold didn't seem to bother him. In his right hand he held up a red-covered spiral-bound notebook that Allison recognized.
The sight of it made the walls of her stomach fall away, leaving an empty void.
It was her Trigonometry notebook. The same notebook she'd written Mom's conversation down in.
"You dropped this." Chuck called down to her, smiling.
