Out of Harmony

We walked to the front desk together, keeping enough distance between our bodies so that we wouldn't bump into each other. In fact, he made sure not to get close at all, which was disheartening. The only act that made me feel a little bit reassured was when he touched my shoulder, telling me to go ahead and check out first.

I sat my book down on the counter and dug around in my purse for my orange library card, trying to hurry because I didn't want to look like a slow mess in front of Emerson. He was probably sizing me up, noticing every little detail that made me feel out of sorts. Maybe he was looking at my messy purse that had everything from 3D glasses and candy wrappers. What if he saw I had a spot on my arm that didn't have any freckles whatsoever, even though I had a considerable amount everywhere else?

But then I wanted to laugh because when I looked over at him while waiting for the receipt, I saw that he was still smiling, trying to get a stray piece of hair to lay down almost subconsciously.

Never had I ever stuttered or shook when I spoke in front of strangers, but this boy was just too different. You see, I was a little lost. Now that I couldn't hide behind my book, I felt his skin radiate heat and his close-but-not-quite-brown hair was clean and he was trying to look through me with vivaciously bright eyes.

I wanted to tell him to stop doing all that and more, but I didn't because I couldn't. My hands felt cold and clammy when I accidentally brushed my hand up against the librarian's when she handed my overused card back. Emerson wouldn't touch my hand, but I still wiped them off on my clothes just to be safe.

I looked over at the fake tree sitting in a huge, ugly pot while I waited. If I didn't occupy myself with something as mundane as examining the faux flower, I'd know I'd stare at him.

The librarian muttered a quick apology, explaining that the computer wasn't quite right in the head. She scanned his card once again, complaining under her breath. Emerson laughed quietly and told her it was okay. I looked back over to see her hands hover over the keyboard, looking at the monitor with a threatening glare.

His laugh drew me in, but I didn't catch myself staring. He had long eyelashes that touched his cheek when he shut his eyes. Out of curiousity, I wanted to know what color his eyes were? I looked at them, noticed how bright and cheerful they were, but I didn't even bother to acknowledge what color they were.

I wanted to know who he was. I might have known his name, but I wanted to know what his favorite color was, his life goals, what he was like when he was a kid... I just wanted to know him, and I hoped that wasn't too weird.

Emerson looked interesting. We were practically the only people here on a Saturday night; we were certainly the youngest, minus a little baby who couldn't even sit up yet.

The baby woke up and began crying when he. presuming 'it' was a 'he' from the navy blue outfit, when he couldn't see his mother. The mother hurried around the table, scooped him out of the carrier to cradle him in her arms.

“Sydney?” he asked, obviously feigning a little worry, even though I would bet anything that it really was just curiosity. And, of course, I looked up at him with a questioning look, trying to look quizzical yet not so lost.

“I offered if you wanted me to walk you to your car, if you drove,” Emerson asked, gesturing to the doors, “ since it's getting late.”

When I nodded, he gave a crooked grin before holding his arm out for me to take.



The warm weather seemed to disappear when the sun went down. I hurried from my car to my house as quickly as I could, fearing a gust of wind would cause even more goosebumps.

My parents, as lovely and amazing as they were, never stayed in one room except for the kitchen. Our house was only one story, and it had an odd layout that not everyone loved, but it was well lived in. There were two bedrooms on opposite sides of the house. Mine's at the very end of a very long hallway, and my parent's room was right off from the kitchen.

We never used the dining room. Unless we had guests over, we thought it was way too formal for everyday use. We had a decent sized living room, but it didn't have windows, which disappointed my dad. If he wasn't outside, he liked to be able to see it. Mom worked at a flower shop downtown, and she often brought her work home with her. The kitchen counter provided enough space to work.

My mom swore that she had the perfect job and she wouldn't change it for any amount of money. She felt that each bunch of roses she sold to teenager who couldn't do anything but gush about his girl made her smile.

Dad's sitting at the table with a stack of papers in front of him. Mom was on the laptop, propping her long legs on the table with it resting right above her knees. I moved away from the door frame and began down the hallway to my room, sure that they heard my car pull into the driveway.

My room wasn't so cold, but there's a few significant differences between the stuffy library and here. I toed my shoes off, lay on my bed, and pulled the quilt up to my neck. I wasn't tired, and that book I needed to read could wait.