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BLAZE
“Here’s the thing, Blaze…”
On the other side of his desk, my stepbrother, a.k.a. the mayor of Welkins Ridge, steeples his hands and tries to look important.
I grew up with Walden’s dirty socks, loud friends, and mediocre table manners, so sometimes it’s hard to take him seriously, but maybe I need to work on that. The problem is, he actually is important, at least as far as the town library is concerned, and I have a feeling bad news is on the way.
“Spit it out, Walden.” I try for a cross between friendly and professional and land somewhere between resigned and exasperated.
“The fire department wants the Addison building.”
My jaw tightens. Walden and I had plenty of fights growing up, but we’re both adults now and we both have respectable jobs working for our town. I’m not going to revert to being twelve years old and screaming at him for reading my diary (or more likely pretending to have read it just to aggravate me—reading was never really Walden’s thing).
But I am going to fight for what’s mine.
I take a deep breath and force myself to sound calm. “The council said the library could have the Addison as soon as the records department moved into the new wing of the town hall.”
The library is currently in a beautiful, old, depressingly decrepit building that hasn’t been adequately funded in decades and is in danger of falling apart—literally, if the leaks are any indication.
The Addison, on the other hand, is a block or so away, is also in the main part of town, so it’s in a great location. It lacks the character of the old library, but it’s newer and bigger and cleaner and more accessible to handicapped people and strollers, and it has a much nicer carpet. I suffer from carpet envy every time I look at the threadbare green felt that covers the library floor.
And I took it on faith that the Addison would be the library’s new home. Damn it, I should have made someone sign something. If I’ve learned nothing else from my stepfather, it’s to always get something in writing.
Walden scrunches his face up in an expression that looks like a first-year acting student’s idea of what empathy is supposed to look like. “Well, I don’t know if you realize this, Blaze, but it’s right next to the fire station—”
“I know exactly where it is, Walden.”
It’s getting harder to keep the growl out of my voice. I’ve been scoping out that building for months. I know the square footage, the elevation, how much the monthly utility bills are, and how old the HVAC system is. And yes, I noted who the next-door neighbors are.
Walden ignores me. “The new fire chief, he’s got all kinds of ideas for improving the fire station and response time and all that stuff, and he made a compelling case for annexing the Addison and turning it into dorms for his men.”
“Doesn’t the fire station have a dorm?”
Walden shrugs. “Yeah, but I guess it’s kinda small. Chief thinks he can recruit better men if he can offer them better digs, and with the fires around here getting worse every year—”
“Walden, the library is getting worse every year. We desperately need a new roof. The study space is cramped. The elevator makes such horrible noises that parents are afraid to take their kids up to the children’s room in it. It’s sucking up most of my budget—a budget which, I might remind you, has actually been cut already to help pay for a new hook and ladder for the—” I bite back a swear word, “—fire station!”
Walden nods. “I hear you, Blaze. The library needs a new roof, you need more space, the elevator makes noises, the whole thing costs too much—”
“I literally just said that.”
“Operations are taking up too much of your budget, and you’re upset because some of that money has already gone to the fire station,” he continues as if I hadn’t said anything.
Walden read somewhere that parroting back what someone says shows that you understand their perspective and builds rapport, but it actually just sounds mansplainy and childish, like any moment he’ll revert to imitating everything I say just to get under my skin the way he did when we were kids.
And okay, I did it to him too.
But that was when we were kids. Now we’re adults, and there’s a very real building at stake, and I feel like I am not being taken seriously enough.
No one ever takes the library seriously enough.
“Yes, I’m upset!” I reply. “I should have made a bigger fuss about that budget cut and all the others, but the council basically promised me the Addison, and now the fire chief wants that, too?”
“The whole hook and ladder thing was before he even moved to town,” Walden reminds me, using his calm-and-condescending voice. “You can’t blame him—”
“But I can blame you, and the rest of the town council, for not sticking up for me, can’t I?”
