Page 1 of Second Story

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ISAAC

Once upon a time, a librarian saved my future.

No word of a lie, Mrs. Obasi got between me and the dealer hassling me to make his deliveries, and she broke a library rule to save me from him. Fuck being quiet like the sign over her desk demanded. She roared at him to back off, swearing that I had a bright future and it didn’t include getting hooked on his drugs in knife crime central.

I never forgot her fierceness. Could do with some more of it right now, only this time to save me from Luke Lawson.

I’m not saying he’s some south London roadman, offering a free snort of coke from his door key. Luke Lawson runs a posh boarding school in deepest Cornwall, hundreds of miles from where I grew up. He does hold the one key I still need, but now that I’m at the end of a two-day interview process to make his school library all mine, he snatches that bright future from me.

“I’m sorry, Isaac.”

“Sorry?”

“Yes. I’m extremely sorry I don’t have better news for you.” He frowns across a table while children play in a courtyardoutside. Their laughter carries through an open window, carefree and easy, as if there are no needles littering their playground or rival gangs who settle their scores with knife fights. His decision slices through their laughter. “But even though I’m sorry, I can’t offer you the school librarian position. Or another role I was considering as our early years storyteller.”

My heart stops.

Waves of panic follow, and it shouldn’t be possible to drown inside a library. They’ve always been my safe spaces, were long before Mrs. Obasi roared for me. I’ve loved them since Mum sat with me on squishy beanbag seats to read story after story when I was a shrimp like my little brother, and it’s Lenny I need to keep afloat by scoring a spot here.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. No roar. Not even a whimper. I’m as voiceless as Lenny has become lately, speechless, just like when that dealer tried to recruit me. He was too late. I was already an addict, only Narnia was my gateway drug when I was still young enough for bedtime stories. Twenty-odd years later, I still mainline fantasy whenever I get the chance to read. I’m hooked on Tarot lords and their companions, and I crave dragons, especially if their riders are big, brooding, and protective.

Across the table from me, Luke Lawson could give any of them a run for their brooding money. His forehead furrows, and if I wasn’t fighting for my life, this much concern could be added to the list of what keeps me turning pages. Broad-shouldered and brave usually does it for me. So does strong and solid, which Luke Lawson outwardly isn’t. He’s lean like me, and tall, like I am now my shrimpy days are over, but I can’t hold my breath for any kind of happy ending when he shakes his head firmly.

The last time someone did that while looking this creased with caring, they walked away to leave me as a stand-in single parent.

Don’t think about Joe da Silva.

Falling for my brother’s first school welfare worker is old news—a one-sided situation that was over before it even started. I’ve got more urgent issues right now, like needing this job. What I can’t find are the words to say so to the man with the power to hire me. All I can do is listen to Luke Lawson’s verdict.

“I appreciate the thought you put into the story you told my interview panel. And that you delivered it with so much gusto. Creating it yourself was a nice touch.” His brow furrows again. “But you see, I can’t hire someone who won’t be honest with me.”

Forget drowning. My mouth turns Sahara dry in an instant.

“Honest with you?”

The last time I felt this cornered, a librarian didn’t only roar. She gave nine-year-old me lessons on how to look and sound brave, even if I didn’t feel it. “You Webbers are all the same,” she told me. “You’re as softhearted as your mother.” Replicating what Mrs. Obasi demonstrated and then made me practise is still instinctive. Today my chin rises, eyes narrowing, and I growl like the lion she promised lived deep inside me.

“What do you mean I haven’t been honest? I’m no liar.”

What I am is desperate.

Since Joe walked away, I’m all Lenny has left. It’s me or nothing, and perhaps Luke Lawson sees my simmering panic.

He tilts his head, and I’ve been judged by plenty of people since dropping out of uni, but this close observation comes with a question. “Why Glynn Harber, Isaac?”

“W-why Glynn Harber?” What a stupid time to stutter or to sound as if I’ve never heard the name of this school. I lift my chin even higher and summon my inner Aslan. “I’m here for me. This is what I’ve always wanted. A library of my own.”

“So why did you go to university years late and then leave prior to completing your first semester?” Luke Lawson waits abeat before filling my silence. “You’re the only applicant without a degree in Library Science. Without any kind of pre- or post-grad vocational qualification, or with?—”

Where I’m from, guns aren’t as common as blades. This still shoots from me, bullet-fast and frantic. “I’ve got experience. That’s worth more than any piece of paper.”

His head tilts again. “So you said.” He stands, and there’s no arguing with his silent instruction that I follow him to a wall full of photos beside the window. He points at one. “And your application mentioned that our school counsellor could confirm your work experience.” Sand dunes are a backdrop in this image of a man carrying a child on his broad shoulders.

Like Joe used to carry Lenny to make him feel on top of the world instead of defeated.

I have to look away from this reminder of someone who bailed on us both.

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