Being Henry David - By Cal Armistead Page 0,35

room, where there are tables and chairs for studying. I sit at a round table near the window, and scan the biographies of all the statue people in the book, including Emerson and Thoreau, just in case Thomas decides to grill me about them. But my head hurts so badly, it’s hard to focus. So when I’m done, I get up, cram all my stuff, including the library book, into my lost-and-found backpack, and do some exploring.

Down the hall, I find the men’s room. Pulling up my shirt in the stall, I can see the pus from my cut oozing through the bandage, even though I just changed it. The damn thing is throbbing and hurts like hell. So I change the bandage again, using fresh supplies I took from the nurse’s office before I left the school.

Continuing my scouting mission, I discover the library has three floors of books, plus a basement level with a boardroom and a candy machine. There are a lot of places where a guy seeking shelter could hide for a day or two. I buy myself a package of peanut butter crackers from the machine and eat them for lunch.

Back on the first floor, I sit on the big couch in the lobby next to the statue of Emerson in his chair, and under the watchful eyes of the other statues. Sinking into the comfort of the couch, I pretend to continue reading the library book Thomas gave me, so I won’t look like some random homeless person who just wandered into the library to take a nap. Even though that’s exactly what I am and exactly what I feel like doing. I close my eyes against the throbbing pain in my head.

“Hank, wake up. The library closes in ten minutes.”

“What? Oh. Okay.”

Garbled thoughts, twisted and confused, sinking in quicksand, can’t think. All I want is to sleep and sleep. I close my eyes again; drift back under.

“Look at me, Hank.” This time, Thomas has a hand on my shoulder and is gently shaking me. “You definitely don’t look well, my friend.”

I force myself to open my eyes wide, though it hurts. Everything hurts, especially my side, where the knife wound is throbbing. “I’m fine,” I lie. “Really.” Feeling like a drunk person, I peer around at my surroundings, not fully recognizing where I am, not caring. I pick up the library book and hand it back to Thomas. “Thanks. I’ll be going now.”

I get up, grab my backpack, and sway just a bit on my feet as I take a step toward the door.

“Hank, wait. At least let me make sure you get home.”

“No, it’s okay.” Not looking at him, I adjust the strap of the pack on my shoulder. “My parents should be outside right now to pick me up.”

Wanting to believe me, he nods, relief in his dark eyes, like maybe he actually cares what happens to me. A woman enters the lobby and I register dark hair and a blue sweater, but the rest of her is a blur.

“Thomas, I can’t get the main computer to shut down,” she says. “Something weird keeps popping up on the screen. Can you come take a look?”

“Sure, Annie. I’ll be right there.” He turns to me and says in a firm voice, “Well, you go home and get some rest now, okay, Hank?”

With a little wave, I pretend to head toward the front door as Thomas leaves the room. But as soon as he’s out of sight, I struggle to make my mind work, try to decide where to go, where to hide. What kind of security system would a library have, anyway? Cameras and alarms? Motion detectors?

There’s no time to think this through. Next to the couch in the lobby, there’s a grand piano, covered with a woven brown cloth that almost reaches the floor. When I hear Thomas’s voice rise in the other room, I dive under the piano. By accident, I hit the pedals and the piano makes a muffled, musical bang. I freeze. My heart thumps so loud I imagine it can be heard echoing through the entire library. Cowering, I wait for Thomas to come in and discover my hiding place.

“Come on, let’s go already,” I hear the woman librarian say to Thomas. “This place gives me the creeps after dark.” I hear their footsteps approach the front door. “It’s all your fault, you know. All that talk about the library being haunted. I’m going to have nightmares.”

Thomas