Barbie’s blonde hair is back lit by the sunlight streaming through the library windows behind the reading table. Stacks of books fan out around her, some laid face down, others heaped in jumbles, paper bookmarks conspicuously protrude as she makes notes, drumming her fingers on her laptop until she feels the glare of the other patrons.
Digging in her purse, she extracts an HB pencil, now idly tapping the eraser end against her front teeth while she works. Her brow creases into a frown of concentration as she plows through a particularly weighty tome.
Suddenly her concentration slips. Blinking myopically she readjusts her focus to take in the wider world. Even the pencil stills as she looks around the room. It feels as if she’s being watched, except everyone else seems caught up in their work. What gives?
Laying down the pencil, she looks again. She scans back and forth. Still nothing. But the feeling of being watched is even stronger. So she lifts her head and looks up at the second floor balcony that rings the reading room. And there he is. Jose, leaning up against the rail, is looking down at her.
“So gorgeous,” she thinks, smiling up at him, giving a little wave. He returns her wave with a crisp salute but doesn’t smile, just looks down at her expressionlessly. Barbie feels her body betray her.
She uses both hands to indicate her ostentatious research display, then gives him a palms up pantomime “what can I do”. He shrugs and she tears away her gaze, lowering her eyes to her work. Concentrate.
She’s got to get this paper done or she’ll be in big trouble. But she is dying to look up to see if he’s still watching her. Barbie pushes the impulse down. Hard. She picks up the pencil again, tightens her grip. No. Don’t look, work.
Don’t encourage him. Flip through pages. Pretend to work, real work will follow soon enough.
Someone drops into the chair beside her. Barbie’s first thought is that it’s Jose come down from above, so although her heart is pounding, she doesn’t look.
But then she knows it’s not Jose. Looking over she sees it’s only Tamara. “Are you busy?” Tamara asks.
Barbie shakes her head in amazement, waving her hand at the reference materials.
“Of course I’m busy. I’ve got to get my term paper done or I’m toast. Is yours done?”
Tamara shakes her head. “Not exactly, about half.”
“It’s due the end of the week.”
“I know.” Barbie is telling her when things are due? The whole world is upside down. “I thought I’d let you know Q’s leaving. He’s gonna switch to Ryerson. Probably make my work easier.”
Tamara gets up to leave but Barbie reaches out a hand to grab her arm. “Wait. Are you all right?”
“Could be worse.” Tamara nods tersely, although she looks on the verge of tears. “At least it wasn’t him screwing Mouse.”
“What?” Barbie isn’t following this conversation at all.
“On Friday night. It wasn’t Q, it was Jose.”
“You’re saying Jose slept with Mouse?” Barbie asks, not quite believing it. She thought– no, don’t go there.
“Yeah, that’s what Q said.”
“Don’t tell me you can’t tell Jose and Q apart”
“I was freaking out, and it was dark.” Seeing Barbie’s agitation, Tamara realizes Barbie is jealous that Jose got it on with Mouse. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t think it’d bother you. I kinda thought you’d be, you know, happy, if, I mean, Jose and Mouse ….”
“Yeah, that’s great. Takes the pressure off,” Barbie lies. “Look, Tam, why don’t you go grab your books and get your research done. It’ll take your mind off things.”
“Yeah, okay. I think I will.” She smiles wanly at her friend. Who’d have thought. Barbie may be flight, but she has really been a good friend. “Can I leave my stuff here then?”
Barbie nods, “Sure. Here, spread out on the table so nobody else takes your spot. We can talk at lunch, okay?” Thinking, Jose and Mouse?
Tamara nods, and does as she’s told. Barbie watches Tamara head into the stacks and takes advantage of the moment to glance casually up at the balcony. Wishing he was there. Here. But he isn’t. He’s gone.
Lucky Mouse.
Barbie sighs, then turns back to her book.
