Chapter One

Snow was everywhere as I walked down the alley – sending shivers down all over my body. I cupped both my hands together, blew warm air into them, and rubbed them together, before placing them inside my pockets – mentally scolding myself for forgetting my gray wool gloves.  

At this state, I swear my hands will be numb and frozen before I even get the chance to enter the public library.  

The street were half frozen and filled with piles of snow from yesterday’s and today’s snowfall. I could even see the glossy ice from the lake from where I was standing, it looked thick enough for anyone to skate over it. I think might stop by there once I’m done at the public library. 

Snow never stopped raining down since the start of the month. Weather news last night said it would stop before we know it – but seeing the weather now, I don’t think it would stop, yet. Besides, there aren’t many people around, so I’m thankful for the snow.  

I dislike it when strangers touch me, even with just an accidental brush of the skin. It seems weird, but I didn’t care, it was who I am. People call me the ‘eschewed wallflower’ because of my habit of avoiding people’s touch.  

It became known to all in town when a couple of kids walked past by me and wanted to see if the rumors were true – and as that habit of avoiding people’s touch, I avoided their poking hands and walked away uncomfortably and conscious by their snickers – from that day, I discovered my defame circulating in town. 

I adjusted my head into my gray wool scarf, like a turtle hiding his head in his shell, and continued my way past the different shops. Shops that seem too expensive – that it would burn holes on your wallet, but when you look at the price tags, you’d be spilling your pennies on the counter. 

Usually, teenagers seem to be the only one who does that around. I mean, yeah, I’m a teenager, but I’m different. I don’t buy that many clothes; I’ve got enough of them at home. What I buy more are food, books, books, spaces for my books, and, more books. 

My parents always told me, and I quote, “Why don’t you go out and hang out with friends instead of your books?” Or, “Don’t you want to go out? The sun is bright outside! Go shopping with some friends!” 

I rolled my eyes as I remember what they always tell me. Just because I prefer sitting and reading my books, that doesn’t mean I don’t hang out with my friends sometimes. I just find it as something that drains my energy which means I need to gain energy again – and gaining my energy back means having to stay in my cave for days.  

And in all honesty, I only have one friend, Cathy, short for Catherine, the one with red auburn hair, pretty, smart, and strong-willed. She has been my best friend since middle school – she stood by me when others bully me for being quiet, and being the weird kid who always has her nose buried under a book.  

She was the fighter and the extrovert between the both of us – the talkative friend who seems to have never-ending rumors about the people here in town. Cathy sometimes seems to think of me as a vampire because of my pale complexion and skinny body, plus my black silky hair. And because she always tells me this compliment, I’d say ‘yes' or a ‘whatever’. It always annoys me that she thinks of me like that. 

Upon my arrival, the huge columns of the public library were frozen from bottom to top, so was the handle of the glass door which made me struggle so much to open it. 

The building was like a house for an offering for Greek gods and goddesses – everything was made from white graying bricks and looked like it came from a Greek palace. Well, it did look like it – old, gray, few frozen vines entwining the huge columns, and visible cracks that you think would crumble down if you push it without effort. 

Still twisting the knob with difficulty, I thought of kicking the door like one of those cop novels where they kick the door and burst in to save the day, but thought better of it because I didn’t want to get in trouble and slip on the ice near one of the columns. 

I clutch the frozen knob tightly, readied my stance as if I was readying for a battle against the door that was big and heavy. I repeatedly twisted it up and down, slightly slipping on the frozen tiled floor. And to no avail, I stopped, stood straightly, fixed my warm coat, and huffed. I decided to knock hoping that, against this thickened glass door, my tiny small knock could be heard throughout the library. 

I looked through the glass door and saw a woman in her sixties from across the library. Even though she was too far, I could see her clearly from where I was standing – gray hairs, wrinkles on the corner of her eyes, she was wearing reading glasses, a white blouse that was too big for her, a long skirt that reached the floor, and old brown leather shoes. The epitome of an old librarian.

I knocked on the thickened glass door much louder so she could hear it. I swear I could hear my knuckles complain in pain. She then looked up slowly like how a sloth would and smiled at me. I smiled back and waved at her then pointed to the knob. She looks at the knob like she was analyzing it. I groaned, I pointed back at the knob again, holding it and twisting it while leaning on it. It still wouldn’t budge. 

I purse my lips and thought of showing her the books I borrowed. I took the straps of my sling bag off my shoulders and fished the books out, and waved it to the old librarian. She smiled again and gestured for me to come inside. 

“The knob’s frozen stuck!” I shouted at her, not that it helped because of the thick glass between us. I pointed at the knob again, shaking my head while she just sat there, smiling at me. I placed the books inside my bag again and tried the knob. 

Much to my shock, the knob twisted and pushed open easily. I look at it, bewildered, examining it in the process like it was some mysterious case of the knob handle magically unstuck from the ice. Twisting it, again and again, I squint my eyes at it. I closed the glass door slowly, hearing it click, I twisted the knob again to make sure it would still open. And it did. 

What in the world? I glanced at the old librarian who was still smiling at me, then back to the door. Looking up and down, I backed away from the door, as if it would magically wake up from its slumber and attack me from behind, not letting my eyes off of it. I slowly turn my back from it and thought, I might have looked stupid in front of the old librarian. 

I made my way across to her and smiled as I grab the books again from my bag and settling them in front of her. 

“Lovely day isn’t it?”, she said. 

“Yeah. It is.”, I replied out of politeness.  

She looks at me and I look back at her. I shifted uneasily under her gaze, I glanced at the untouched book that I set in front of her on the wooden table, to the return slip, and then to her.

“Aren’t you going to, you know,” I pointed to the book in front. “To sign my return slip?” 

The smile that never left her face, became creepier the more I looked at her. “Oh, yes, yes. I will.”, she croaked. She stares at me, not doing anything. I reluctantly turn around, deciding to borrow another book – and probably decide to stay here for the remaining afternoon. 

I trotted off from the rows and rows of bookshelves – old brown and a little bit dusty, the chairs and tables beside were neatly arranged. Not a single soul occupying the seats for now. I continued my venture around the library until I stopped on a particular section. It was a bit dark near the end of the ‘Fiction’ side... but half of that that was near me had enough light for me to stay here and read on the spot. 

I went in between the two shelves adjacent to each other, raising my hand and grazing the tip of my fingers on the spines. Book to book, colorful and glittering to dull and old books, my amazement of how they came to be, never ceases to amaze me at all. They never bore me, they entertain me. They taught me how to turn inwards no matter what the mayhem was outside. It makes me happy and never lonely. That’s what I love about it, the images, the creativity. I love it. 

I stop in my tracks, tipping my head a bit to the side to read the spine of the book that caught my eyes. 

‘Function’. 

I raise my brow. I pluck it out from its shelf, turning it back to read the summary.  

‘Warning: Do not read.’ Why would anyone put this book, write it and say, “Do Not Read”? That is just pure stupid, I mean, the author could have just placed it in his desk, let it dust over and never publish it if a ‘Do Not Read’ note was written in the back of the book. I shook my head in utter disbelief and shrugged it off and turned to the first page. There was another note, ‘You have been warned.’  

I furrow my brow at it. What’s wrong with reading something that you want to entertain yourself with? I ignored it, I walked towards where the light was shining faintly but enough to be a spot to read and sat down comfortably on the carpeted floor. Placing the book on my lap, ignoring the first page, and flipped to the next page off to the first chapter.