Make Me Bad - R.S. Grey Page 0,3
fruit and cheese tray goes next. I feel guilty throwing away Mrs. Allen’s cake, so instead, I put it in Tupperware to take home. Just during the transfer process alone, I audibly gag three times. There’s no way I’m eating another piece, but she doesn’t need to know that.
After all evidence of the party is gone, I tidy up around the library, tucking away the toys in the toddler play area and re-shelving the books that were left out on the tables. I straighten my name placard—Madison Hart, Children’s Librarian—and then bend down to eye level to wipe away a microscopic smudge.
When all of my duties are done, I still can’t muster up the will to leave, so I sit at my desk and play a few rounds of solitaire. The library is absolutely silent except for the clicking of my mouse. Lenny, the security guard, isn’t even making his usual rounds.
When the cleaning crew comes in, toting their vacuums and mops, I know it’s time for me to leave. I can’t hide out here any longer. It’s time to face facts: a three-game winning streak in solitaire is as exciting as my birthday is going to get.
I stand and grab my stuff. With my Tupperware, purse, birthday present from Eli (an early edition of Pride and Prejudice), and winter gear, I’m loaded down. I shuffle everything into one arm then lean down to turn off my computer monitor, pausing when I spot my blue birthday candle lying on the floor under my desk. It must have rolled off when I was cleaning up. I frown, overcome with pity for the candle, forgotten on the ground, and for me for never getting to make a real wish on it. It’s silly, but I drop everything onto my desk and reach down to retrieve it.
There, all alone on the floor, I hold it up in front of my mouth, close my eyes, and make the only wish that comes to mind.
Please make this next year more exciting than the last twenty-five.
And then I blow.
I only live half a mile from the library, so I walk to and from work most days. When people ask me about it, I say I like the exercise, but really, I just don’t have the money to blow on car payments and insurance. I’m saving every penny I earn. For what? I’m not sure.
It’s late February, and even in Texas, there’s a biting chill in the air. I wrap my arms around myself and burrow my face down into my coat as I trudge along the sidewalk.
It’s darker outside than it usually is during my walk home. I probably shouldn’t have stayed so late, but it’s not like there’s much to worry about. Our beach town has been growing fast in the last few years, but it’s still small enough to feel safe even at times like this.
A car passes by and honks twice. I don’t get a good look at who’s driving, but chances are, we know each other. In Clifton Cove, everyone knows everyone. I’m about to wave when I realize I don’t have a free arm to do it. I’m really loaded down.
Downtown is beautiful even at this time. It looks like something straight out of a Disney theme park. All the shops are styled in a similar way: shutters, flower boxes, and striped awnings. Each is painted in a coordinating bright shade that pops in contrast to their white front doors. The cobblestone street is lined with antique lamps that dimly light my way from one to another. I pass the candy shop and the post office, a fancy butcher shop I’ve never been into, and a toy store. All of them are closed at this hour, but I almost prefer it that way—no having to contend with milling tourists licking ice cream cones and posing for photos. I have the street to myself.
Another car passes and the wind picks up. My teeth chatter and a strange feeling winds its way up my spine. It almost feels as if I’m being followed. I glance over my shoulder, but the sidewalk is empty. Then I face forward once again and emit an ear-splitting scream as a man dressed in all black blocks my path. I have no time to react before he shoves me hard against the wall. Everything in my arms clatters to the ground. My early edition of Pride and Prejudice falls out of its gift bag and lands smack dab