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When Distress Meets Distress



(Savannah’s Point Of View.)


“I’m heading off to the library,” I called out to my

mother. She looked shocked that I even knew what a

library was. Gee, thanks mom.

“You’re going to the library? You mean the place with

books?” she questioned, her eyebrows rising slightly.

I let out a chuckle before nodding.

“Yes, Mom. That’s the one; I need a book for a

report. If I don’t get it, I’m definitely failing,” I replied.

“Okay, well, have fun,” my mother snorted. The

amusement was clear on her face. Her dark brown

hair, something I inherited, was tied back into a

messy bun and she had on a large t-shirt and


I waved at her before getting into my car, a black

Jeep Grand Cherokee that I worked so hard for. My

parents had chipped in for it, too but I managed to

get my half of it. It was way better than sharing a car

with my older brother Jeremiah.

Speaking of the idiot, we had gotten into a fight this

morning. I scowled at the memory before pulling

into the parking lot of the library. It was empty aside

from a few cars. Whistling and twirling my keys

around my index finger, I walked over to the

entrance, opening the door and allowing the warm

air to fan over me as I walked to the counter.



“I’m Beverly, how may I help you?” a blonde girl

squealed. I smiled at her, automatically sensing that

she was one of those girls that is too nice for her

own good. Not because she’s blonde, but because

she seems like she cares about other people’s

opinions more than she does about her own I bet

more people walk all over her than they do to the

library’s welcome mat. That’s sad, really.

“I’m just looking for a book on Adolf Hitler,” I

casually spoke, leaning on the counter. She clacked

away on the keyboard, scanning the computer


I adjusted my glasses on my nose. Don’t let my

appearance fool you; I am no nerd, if that’s what

you’re assuming. Unfortunately, in 8th grade, I spent

so much time playing video games that my vision

went to crap and I was prescribed glasses. There is

no way I’m sticking a contact on my finger and

stabbing myself in the eye with it. Besides, I have

really sensitive eyes and they water a lot. My finger

won’t even reach my eye and I’m blinking and my

eye is creating it’s own Niagra Falls.



“It’s in the fourth row, on the second shelf,” she

smiled cheerfully as she pointed in the direction of

the shelf. I nodded, muttering a ‘thank you’ as I

shuffled across the tiled floor.

The library was nice and I don’t know why I don’t

spend more time here. Ha, who am I kidding? Sure,

the library’s nice, but I’m not one to spend my time

with my face buried in a book. I’d rather be at home,

playing video games or sitting on my bed with my

laptop placed on my lap. Or at the mall, watching hot

guys shop and laugh with their friends. Or even out

somewhere, maybe with my family, or my friend




I looked up and noticed that the ceiling was high and

that the library had a second floor, or at least a

wraparound balcony with glass windows and

couches for you to read on, I’m guessing. I noticed a

sign for Free Wi-Fi and I raised an eyebrow with a

slow nod. Maybe I could spend my time here.



When I reached the fourth row, I heard the door

opening. Or at least I think it was the door, this was

my first or second time being in the library for my

whole 16, soon to be 17, years of being alive.



“I’m Beverly, how may I help you?” the lady at the

front desk’s voice echoed throughout the lonely

library. Yeah, I was right. That was the door.



Someone else was here. It was probably an old lady

coming to return a book that she’d checked out in

1975. Instead of an old, fragile voice responding, it

was a guy’s. He didn’t sound too old; it didn’t have

that wise ring to it.

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