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They take the book without anything more than that light, potentially accidental touch, opening up to their tab without comment. I’m giving them too much credit. I’m trying to blame this on them when I’m the one entirely at fault here. They’re a student; they’re not the one responsible for shutting this down.
For some reason, I don’t leap up from my seat after that. I stay there beside Avery and start working on my paper for as long as my battery will last. I have my charger with me, but I don’t plug it in just in case I need an excuse to flee.
Within minutes, I forget about the charger. I forget about fleeing. The silence that falls over our corner of the library is as comfortable as a blanket laid over our laps. We’re both typing between flipping through one of the books in front of us, and soon it almost feels like we’re working on the same paper rather than separate assignments.
They reach for one of the books and start flipping through it. My eyes are watery from staring at words on a bright screen for so long. I close my laptop when I notice the textbook Avery grabbed.
“You can find a better source than that,” I say.
They raise an eyebrow at me. “Oh? What’s wrong with this?”
“Nothing, but there are better sources if you’re looking for first-hand accounts.”
“Like what?”
There’s no artifice this time. I don’t know how I know, but I’m certain of it. So I lean a bit closer, edging into their space, and point at the page they were looking at.
“A lot of these kinds of reports ended up online. It was the early ‘90s, but some of the accounts survived. I know I’m supposed to tell you to use better sources, butyou can find reliable sources if you dig around a little. Is your laptop connected to the library Wi-Fi?”
Avery turns their laptop toward me. We start searching around. I even reach over and type in a couple things when I’m not sure how to explain it. I love these old accounts. A lot of them come from the queer bar and club scene from the ‘80s and ‘90s. A lot happened there away from the prying eyes of the rest of society.
“Wow,” Avery says. Their eyes are flickering around the screen like they can’t possibly read all of it quickly enough. “This is amazing. I need to read all of this.”
“I doubt you need all of it for your paper.”
“Not for my paper. Just for myself.”
My chest does some kind of alarming lurching thing at the thought of Avery sitting around reading these documents just for personal interest. Because it’s exactly the kind of thing I used to do.
Suddenly, they turn their wide eyes and huge grin on me, and it’s like getting hit with a stage light. I swallow, finally realizing how close I got so I could type on their computer. I’m leaning so far toward them that I can see every crease of their lips, and that conjures up a vivid memory of how soft those lips felt against mine.
I reel back, almost knocking myself out of my chair in my haste to retreat. Some of the light in Avery’s face fades.
“Sorry,” I say. “I forgot. I need to…”
The excuse withers. I know they don’t believe me. I don’t believe me. Those words are the flimsiest of barriers between us, and I scramble to run before the bulwark can break.
“Diego, wait,” Avery says. “It’s okay.”
It’s not. It’s not okay. Every time I’m around them, I either cross the line or almost cross the line. I’ll take this “almost” as a victory, but it’s only going to stay an “almost” if I leave right now.
I sweep my laptop and the couple books that are mine into my bag, then jerk up out of my chair.
“You can use the rest,” I say.
It’s all I offer to Avery as a goodbye.
Chapter Thirteen
Avery
I WATCH DIEGO go. It’s like watching a sand castle crumble. His frantic escape shatters something fragile within me, my weeks of hard work dissolving between my fingers into a pile of formless sand. He all but runs from the little table we shared, all but runs from the library itself, and I watch him until he disappears beyond the front doors.
For a while, I sit there staring at the websites Diego helped me find. Talking about research seemed to put him at ease. What changed at the end there? What scared him away? One moment he was relaxed and helpful; the next he looked like I had a knife to his throat. I know he’s worried about this looking inappropriate to outside observers, but surely a TA can advise his student in the freakinglibraryof all places?
I close my laptop with a sigh. I was so happy to see him when I walked in here. I truly didn’t plan it, but the moment I spotted him, I made a beeline for his table. Not only was I sure I wanted some of the books scattered around him, but I also wanted to see him. He’s avoided me for days, and I just wanted a chance to show him that this is okay. The world didn’t end because we danced together and shared a kiss. Okay, shared a few kisses. A few extremely hot kisses. But still! Nothing else happened, and the world is still spinning.
If only I could make him see that.
