7. Hannah

SEVEN

HANNAH

I smooth my dollar bill out on the edge of the vending machine.

"Pretty please, eat my money, you big block of parts," I grumble as I feed the bill into the slot for the third time.

The components whirl, and finally, my money disappears.

Double-checking, I press the correct buttons and wait for a can of Dr Pepper to drop out the chute. Then I repeat the process for a second can, and last, I select a granola bar. The bar will probably be a hassle to consume, but if I'm going to try to eat in secret, I need something that will fit in my pocket.

I'd roll my eyes at the irony of having a vending machine in the entryway to the library when you're not allowed to bring food inside, but it's coming in handy for me today, so I won't judge the lack of reasoning.

Slipping the bar into my jeans pocket, I tuck the two cans of pop into the crook of my arm and push the second set of heavy glass doors open.

As you'd expect, it's quiet.

The rattling HVAC system acts as a sort of white noise, making the large outdated space feel safe and comfortable.

The carpet is that thin industrial stuff that's barely softer than concrete, but it keeps my steps silent as I make my way behind the front desk and down the little hallway leading to the staff break room.

Inside the break room, lockers line one wall for our backpacks. A handful of tables and chairs that rarely get used litter the space, and a counter sits in the back corner with a sink, fridge, and microwave for anyone here long enough to require a lunch break.

My shifts are only four hours long, so I don't think I'll ever have an actual lunch in here. But…

I set the cans on a table and wedge my bag into my locker.

Looking at the cans, I blow out a breath.

This feels stupid.

Ridiculous.

But ending up with a pair of black eyes from walking into a man-wall would be worse than someone witnessing me holding cans to my face.

Four minutes later, I second-guess my choice when Sissy, a tiny woman with more energy than a caffeinated squirrel, appears in the doorway.

"Umm, what are you doing?" She half laughs.

I sigh and give the cans a quarter turn, trying to pull the last bit of coldness out of them. "I crunched my nose on, uh, something, and supposedly, this will help stop it from swelling."

My face feels pretty much fine now. I don't know if it was the cans or just time, but either way, I'm confident I won't be left with any bruises.

Sissy hums. "That something have anything to do with a big, hot football player?"

I lower the cans to the table I'm sitting at and groan. "Please tell me you didn't witness it."

"No idea what you're talking about." She hooks a thumb over her shoulder. "But there's a ginormous football player who just walked in, asking me if the pretty girl in the white shirt"— she gestures to me— "with the long hair and freckles is feeling okay."

My brows raise, and I swear I can feel my eyes double in size. "He did not call me pretty."

Sissy nods. "He did. But I don't talk to strange men, so I pretended I didn't hear him and walked away."

A slightly manic laugh pops out of me.

Could it really be him coming here to check on me?

"You're serious?" I ask, just to make sure she's not messing with me.

She holds up three fingers, mimicking a scout's honor.

I have to snort.

Sissy works at the front desk, whereas I do book returns, but ever since I met her during the library orientation last week, I've liked her. She's basically the only friend I've made so far.

"So…" She twirls a finger in my direction. "I take it he has something to do with the Dr Pepper on your face?"

I grimace. "I may have run into him on my way here."

"And when you say run into…?"

"I mean, my clumsy ass literally ran straight into his body." I clap my hands together.

Sissy snickers. "How do you miss that guy? He's the size of a house. And how did you not break your face?"

I laugh. "One, I don't know. And two, I did break my face. Or at least my nose started to bleed."

She makes a face, and I get it.

On the way over here, I cut into another academic building and checked myself in a bathroom mirror, relieved to see my face was blood free.

"Does that actually help?" She gestures to the cans in front of me.

I lift my shoulders as I scrunch my nose up, like I'm testing it. "Maybe?" Sighing, I push away from the table and stretch out my back as I stand. "I'm gonna stick these in the fridge, but if you want a can of Dr. Face, help yourself."

Sissy chuckles as she leaves, and I follow her out of the break room.

She wiggles her fingers in goodbye as she splits off to go behind the desk, and I go the other way to find my cart.

Sitting at the front desk and getting paid to do homework would've been ideal, but knowing Mad Dog Lovelace came in looking for me makes me a little glad to be on book-return duty.

It's nice of him to want to check on me, but I don't really know how to handle that sort of pitying attention.

With avoidance in mind, I select the cart with the most books and wheel it out of the room.

I'm not even halfway across the main floor— aiming for the elevators in the back— when I accept my mistake. The fullest cart is great for keeping me hidden in the stacks, but this particular cart is the one with a literal squeaky wheel. Meaning the cart is practically screaming my location as I cross the library.

Ignoring the racket, I keep my eyes focused on the floor just ahead of my cart, using my peripheral to watch for movement.

But I don't notice anyone walking toward me. No one gets up from any of the seating areas to approach.

The football player must have left.

Good.

But instead of feeling relieved, a tiny something pinches my heart.