Page 29 of Love and the Library

As I move back, I catch sight of her screen and the electronic form she’s halfway done filling out.

“You applying for a job?”

I’m busy pulling out my textbook and notes, so it takes me a few seconds to realize Hannah hasn’t answered. When I look up for the reason, I catch her chewing on the corner of her lips while she stares out the window.

“Shorty?”

She turns at the nickname, like the sound of it is a magnet drawing her to me. I’ll have to remember that. Problem is, when I finally catch her eyes, there’s a clear flash of guilt.

“It’s not a job application. It’s a college one.”

“College? I thought … aren’t you a sophomore? You’re not already applying to grad school, are you?”

Hannah shakes her head and tugs at a loose thread on the hem of her shorts. Her avoidance tactics are starting up an uncomfortable burn in my chest, like the time my brother snuck a handful of ghost peppers into my cheesesteak.

“No. I’m thinking of transferring. After this semester. To a school in New York.”

Yep, it’s just like the hot peppers. The heat starts low and innocent and then rages into full-on heartburn, making my chest ache and digestive system twist in rebellion.

“You’re transferring? Why?” I rub my sternum as if the pressing of my palm will ease the phantom pain.

Hannah stares at her lap while she answers, “It’s been two years, and I still don’t feel like I fit here. I mean, my classes are great. But that’s not really enough for me. I guess … I’m just tired of being on my own.”

“On your own?”

“I don’t … I haven’t … hell, it sounds so pathetic.” Hannah presses her fingers against her closed eyelids, so I can’t see her expression when she finally explains, “I can’t figure out how to make connections here. In New York, I’ve got my family and my friends from high school who go to local colleges. Here, I’ve basically been alone for two years.”

The words might as well be a set of blunt knives getting shoved into my stomach.

“So, what are we then?” I try to keep the betrayal out of my voice, but she still cringes in response.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply we’re not friends or whatever. More maybe?” Hannah shakes her head and leans back against the chair, turning her chin to watch me. “I like hanging out with you, Nathan. I really do. But we’ve been on speaking terms for, what, two weeks?”

So, now, I’mNathanapparently. Never thought I’d hate the sound of my real name on her lips.

“You’re one person. Awesome, annoying, and a great kisser. But—and I don’t mean this to sound harsh—I know how quickly something like this can burn out.” She’s back to fidgeting with her shorts, and I have the urge to curl those nervous fingers into mine. “I don’t think I can commit to another year down here.”

My lungs struggle for their next breath, as if the air is slowly being drained from the room.

I just got her, and now, she’s telling me she’s leaving? The strong pressure in my chest demands me to shout that she’s wrong. To tell her that nothing between us will fizzle like it did with that idiot boyfriend who didn’t know what he had. Explain how I’ve been hung up on her for the whole year and that no way will these last few weeks of the semester be enough.

I want Hannah all day, every day.

But from the firm set of her mouth and the good-bye already forming in her eyes, it’s clear that we’re still in too early of a stage for her to believe me.

I’m not enough to get her to stay.

The burn continues to throb and pulse in my rib cage, marking the beginnings of a hole she’s going to leave in her place. I have no idea how Hannah has had such an effect on me already, but as far as I’m concerned, she’s taken up permanent residence under my skin. I’m not about to let her retreat up north without a fight.

The vague outlining of a plan forms in my mind.

She needs more than me? Maybe I can get her that. Set her up to find her place here. To want to come back to Virginia in the fall.

Hannah’s back to typing on her computer, the click of the keys filling the silence between us. She’s probably putting the final touches on that goddamn application. A countdown has started.

But I’m not giving up.

“What are you doing Monday at three?”

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