By Your Side(6)

I finger-combed my hair to acceptable. There was still a kink in my neck from the awkward angle at which I’d slept, and my stomach was not going to be happy with me if I didn’t find food at some point today. I was angry with myself for falling asleep the night before instead of following through with the find-Dax’s-phone plan. Why was he making this so difficult? Why did he care if people knew we were here, anyway? Was he in some sort of trouble with the law . . . again? What had he done this time? I wasn’t even sure what he’d done the first time. Rumor had it that he’d beat up some guy. It wouldn’t surprise me if that rumor had been true.

I shivered again. I had been so thrilled with my outfit last night—a teal-green, flowy T-shirt, a cute tailored jacket, and a pair of jeans. But it had been warm in the library when we were working. Hot, even. For the hundredth time I wished I hadn’t taken my jacket off and shoved it in my bag. Wished I hadn’t put my bag in Jeff’s trunk. My bag. If I had that this whole thing would be over. Even without my phone I would’ve had everything I needed to last the weekend.

There had to be food in this place somewhere. The librarians had to eat lunch. A break room, maybe? On the third floor, I found it—a kitchen. There was not only a fridge but two vending machines—one for soda, one for snacks. They were kind of cruel really, the food on display without any way of getting it. I kicked the soda machine as I walked by, thought about reaching up and trying to grab one from the wide slot below, but quickly dismissed that thought. I’d once read a story online where a guy had to be rescued by the fire department because he got his arm stuck in a vending machine.

The fridge, unlike every other thing in the library, was not locked. It was a huge catering fridge. I’d almost forgotten that people had weddings and events at the library. It really was a big, gorgeous building that had become my prison. I crossed my fingers and opened one of the doors. On the shelf in the middle was the corner of a sheet cake. I wasn’t even sure why anyone would save it—that’s how small it was. But I would gratefully eat it later.

Behind the next silver fridge door was a clear Tupperware container of who-knew-what, but I could see the dark spots of mold clinging to the sides. Aside from that were two mystery paper bags. I pulled out the first bag with the words DON’T EAT MY FOOD written on the outside in Sharpie and looked inside—an apple and a yogurt, which was over a week expired. Considering the warning on the outside, I had hoped for something more steal-worthy. I took the apple and left the yogurt for later. In the other bag was more Tupperware and a can of soda. I gingerly lifted out the plastic bowl and slowly opened the lid. No mold, but I also couldn’t tell what it was. Pasta? Vegetables? Smelling it didn’t help. That could wait. I took the soda and left the rest.

In the cupboards I found some coffee cups and split the soda into two. The drawers were free of real utensils, but I found a plastic knife. It immediately broke when I tried to cut the apple in half with it. I’d just eat half and hope Dax wasn’t a germophobe.

I washed the apple for thirty seconds under warm water, then took a bite. Nothing had ever tasted better. I found some napkins tucked away in a drawer, and when I had eaten my share, I wrapped up the remaining half, picked up the cups, and went back down the stairs to face Dax again. If I could just get him to trust me, I wouldn’t need to sneak into his bag. He’d gladly hand over his phone to me. And he would. I was nice. People liked me. Dax would too.





CHAPTER 5


The main library was bright during the day; plenty of windows brought in slanting rays of sunshine. I carried the two mugs by their handles and held out one for him to take.

“You found coffee?”

“Coke close enough?”

He relieved me of one of the mugs and then I held out the apple wrapped in a napkin.

“What is it?” he asked without taking it.

“It’s half an apple.”

“You found half an apple?”

“I found a whole apple. I ate half of it. I can eat the whole thing if—”

He plucked it from my still outstretched hand.

“You’re welcome.”

He raised his glass to me and took a chug.

Not even a thank you. “One of the librarians must be an apple thief. The bag where I found it was owned by someone accustomed to having their food stolen. We have now added to the distrust.”

“I’m sure you’ll replace it later.”

“Maybe I will.” I made my way back to the chair I had slept in. His sleeping bag still sat on the floor. I stared at it for a long moment really not wanting to have to use it, but the goose bumps on my arms were multiplying by the second, so I swallowed my pride and picked it up. I draped the sleeping bag over my shoulders and sat down, holding my mug between two hands, wishing there was a hot drink inside.

Once this soda was gone we could share a yogurt and some cake later and maybe a mystery dish. I could practically feel my stomach shrinking. Unless . . .

I looked at the big bag by his feet.

When I glanced up, he was staring at me. “What do you have in there?” I asked.

He must’ve known exactly what I had been staring at because he answered, “Not much.”

“Food? If you were planning to stay the whole weekend, you must’ve brought something to eat.”

“I wasn’t planning on staying here the whole weekend.”