By the middle of the week, I was surprised to
find myself sick of the library. I started to think maybe I loved
reading books more than I did working with them. At least returns
let me work alone, and more than once I just hid among the stacks,
leaning against my cart as I read through one of the books I was
supposed to be putting away. Between my staggered schedule and
classes, I hadn’t had a chance to call Adam yet, but I couldn’t get
him out of my mind. To be honest, I didn’t want to call
him—what if he didn’t remember me? What would I say? You know,
we met in the library. I’m the i***t the elevator hates. Yeah, that
was me.
Wednesday evening found me upstairs on the
fourth floor—no problems with the elevator tonight. I learned real
quick to exit first and lift the cart up
