Mixéd 1.4

“Confusing, intriguing, and suspicious,” he said quietly after a long and awkward silence. He didn’t believe me. Of course not. It’s ludicrous.

“But you’re willing to hear me out?”

He looked around the room like a cat stalking a mouse. “This is the absolute worst place in the world to be talking about this,” he whispered, “and so you are either a liar or an idiot.”

I wanted to cry, but that would have been unseemly.

“Then take me somewhere where we can talk.”

He gathered his things. For the first time, I noticed that everything he wore and carried were black. Black jeans. Black socks. Black sneakers. Black raincoat. Black T-shirt. Black computer bag.

“The stacks. Let’s go.” I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but I stood to follow, leaving the pile of books I had been carrying as an excuse to be in the library.

He lead me to the elevator and pressed the “up” button with his sleeve. Germophobe?

“Why didn’t you just press it with your finger?” I asked in an effort to ease the tension.

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