The House of Eve (6)
Curating a collection was a first step and she responded brightly, “I have a few ideas.”
“Wonderful. I’ve left a stack of card indexes for you at the circulation desk that need cataloguing. I’ll be in my office charming away monetary donations.”
Mrs. Porter picked up several new bags brimming with books and headed up to the third floor. When Eleanor arrived at the circulation desk, she found the list of patrons with overdue books who needed to be telephoned. Between the calls and Mrs. Porter’s assignments, she had more than enough work to keep her mind occupied.
The library was the most peaceful place on campus, especially for someone like Eleanor, who had grown to prefer the company of books to people. Though deep down she knew that she desired both, which is why she wanted to join the ABCs, and the new wave of rejection tugged her bottom lip into a pout. Perhaps she should consider going to the party with Nadine. It had been a long time since she dressed up and she had always loved to dance. But no, she had several chapters to read for her philosophy class. The time she’d spent working on her application for the ABCs had put her dreadfully behind on her studies. And it had all been for nothing. Eleanor cast that thought aside and turned to her library work.
After an hour of sorting and filing indexes, the steady sound of crinkling paper pulled her attention away from her task. At the table across from her, she noticed a growing pile of balled leaflets. Her cheeks warmed, and she had to rest her elbows on the desk to steady herself. The Back was back.
The Back belonged to a boy. He always sat in the same cushioned chair, at the same wooden table. He had wide shoulders and dark hair that curled tightly at the nape of his long neck. Eleanor often daydreamed about what it would be like to give those shiny curls a tug. In the many months that she had admired him from her post, she could not recall ever catching him full frontal. Spotting Mr. Back at his regular place always made her day a bit brighter.
An hour or so later, as Eleanor was making a list of stationery supplies that needed to be ordered, she heard footsteps as someone approached the circulation table. She looked up and was met with broad shoulders, tightly curled hair. It was him. Mr. Back.
“Sorry to trouble you, ma’am. But can I sharpen my pencil?” Eleanor’s tongue lost the ability to speak. She had caught his side profile a few times, but that had not prepared her for him up close, in her personal space. Oh Lord, faced front Mr. Back was fine.
“Does it work?” His slightly slanted, inky black eyes looked puzzled. He had smooth skin and soft lips.
“I’d be happy to.” Eleanor regained her composure. She took the pencil from him, thrust it into the sharpener and cranked the metal handle. Suddenly worried about her own appearance, she wished she could catch a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the sharpener. Were her eyes puffy? Hair in place? She turned back to him, pencil in hand.
“William,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“My name. It’s William. William Pride.”
“Oh, Eleanor Quarles.”
“How long have you been at Howard?”
“I’m a sophomore. You?”
“Third year of medical school. I did my undergrad at Howard too.”
Eleanor kept her face cool, even though her insides did a pirouette. He was going to be a doctor. A Negro doctor.
“Well, I’ll be here all day if you need your pencil sharpened again.” Her voice cracked, and she tried to cover up her nervousness with a hearty laugh.
“I’ll remember that.” He winked and turned for his table. Eleanor went back to filing, the whole time trying to focus on the papers in front of her instead of staring at William Pride’s beautiful back.
CHAPTER THREE THE SWEETEST THING
Ruby
I arrived at Thomas Durham Public School forty-five minutes late, with the feeling of Leap’s vile tongue and nauseating scent still on me. My enrichment instructor, Mrs. Thomas, had locked her classroom door when I tried to enter, so I sat on the hard bench in the hall trying to overhear the lesson on college essay writing. I couldn’t see the blackboard through the frosted glass, or hear the student’s responses, but Mrs. Thomas had a voice that carried, and I jotted down what I could gather.
My blouse had discolored with wet rings under the armpits, and my stomach wouldn’t settle down no matter how many times I rubbed it. For two long hours I waited, feeling completely disgusted with myself. I’d endured being slobbered on by my mother’s boyfriend, and where had that gotten me? I was still on the outside of the classroom while everyone else was in. Finally, the door pulled open, and my cohorts filed out. As some snuck furtive glances my way, it felt like they had known what I had done with Leap, and I squirmed shamefully on my seat, avoiding all eye contact.
Two years ago, back in eighth grade, we had been selected for We Rise. The program provided tutoring and mandatory Saturday enrichment classes, along with vigorous testing throughout high school, to prepare us for college. As the best and the brightest, we twelve were competing for only two full scholarships. The ten who were not awarded the highest opportunity would be given a modest stipend to attend a trade school and continued support for job placement. I couldn’t afford to be one of the ten who didn’t qualify and be stuck living hand to mouth with Inez, begging Fatty for money, and being prey to Leap. This was my only way out. Failing to get the scholarship just wasn’t an option for me.