Two – Oliver

I gently push open the door to the small library I've come to know relatively well. My body runs through my usual routine. I move around the front desk and drop off my book in the returns box, then turn back to face the library. I always feel a sense of nostalgia here, but I'm not sure why I feel like that. I take a deep breath in, absorbing the rich scent of coffee and the comforting environment. This library is always so serene when it's almost empty.

The building is fairly antique looking. It has a tall, peaked roof, large windows and lots of floor space, well, that is if you take all the books out. The first third of the library contains the small front desk, a little barista setup and an arrangement of worn leather couches, beanbags and coffee tables. The rest of the library consists of a variety of shelves and books, each lazily organised into sections.

Everything in this library always looks so faded and soft, but that's probably just from the golden light that pours through the large wood-framed windows which cover the front wall of the shop. It's almost like looking through a golden hour filter, especially in the late afternoon.

This is the only library in the Middle that I visit anymore. I also think it's one of the most comfortable Lower-class owned businesses. All of the other libraries I have visited pushed too much of a modern structure, with self-checkouts, reading booths, clean grey and white colours and harsh artificial lighting. Not this library though. This place is perfect, comfortable, natural and even kind of chaotic with the loose papers scattered along the floor and the random stacks of well-read books. It's just homely. It's timeless… and loved.

"Good afternoon Oliver. You look a little lost there." The girl from behind the desk, Baylee, seems to be concerned by the amount of time I spent just standing there as I admire the sea of books, beanbags and papers. I'm kind of well-known here, so all the staff call me by my name.

I turn the music in my earphones down. "No, sorry, I was just living in the moment," I smiled softly at her.

"Need another book?"

I nod, "Of course I do, Baylee, you know me."

"Right, of course," She laughs, "You may as well work here, you know we could always use a spare pair of hands."

"I know you're only joking, but don't test me," I say as I back away towards the shelves.

I weave through the aisles. I saw one book about a week ago, by an author who I found recently, that I've really wanted to read. It's one of those cliché love stories, which is a little different to the book I just read. But I guess that's what happens when you read so much, you have to jump through a few genres. From a darker thriller to a light-hearted fantasy. The only problem is finding it.

Almost all of the shelves can be accessed from either side so it's often difficult to guess which side your book will be facing. It adds to the beautiful chaos and gives me an excuse to spend more time roaming this timeless place. I found the shelf where the book I needed was, but it isn't where I remembered it to be. That makes the hunt difficult, it could be anywhere along the four racks of this one shelf. Or it could be somewhere completely different, maybe someone borrowed it out already or maybe it's still in the returns box. I search along the shelf running my fingers along the mismatched array of books, looking for anything familiar, a dark blue spine, a name. Hoping that I won't overlook the book the first time, I repeat the author in my head: Eryn Li, Eryn Li…

After several minutes, I came to the last book, at the end of the final rack. I sigh pushing myself up from the floor and start on one of the middle shelves again. Retracing my steps, I start checking the books with their pages facing out, too lazy to go to the other side of the shelf. I get lost in the action of removing books and replacing them, until I'm stopped by resistance. I peer through the shelf and meet someone else's eyes.

He looks at me and offers me a smile, taking his hand from the book. I recover from my shock back to reality and immediately recognise he's an Upper-class. Everything about him practically screams Upper-class. No Lower-class would be as groomed as he is and I know I definitely don't. I wait for him to start an argument or cause a scene but he doesn't. He's probably waiting for me to hand him the book. That's what they do, wait for us to serve them. It's one of society's unspoken rules that if an Upper-class wants something, they get it. But he still just stands there.

I pull the book out and slide it to him through a gap in the shelf, lowering my eyes. "Sorry," I mutter.

He seems startled at first and then shakes his head. "Oh no, you can keep it," he says, handing the book back through the shelf.

I pull one of my earphones out. "But you're Upper-class, aren't you?"

"Well," he pauses and looks down at himself, letting out a sigh, "yes... but I've already read this book. I was just planning to skim over it a little, so you can have it."

Slightly confused, I take the book and read through the blurb. Run over my situation in my head: an Upper-class is here, I have what he wants and he was nice about it. It just seems really, really strange. I've never even heard of an interaction between classes going like this.

I look up to see if he's moved on but he's still here. He's already occupied himself with another of her books.

He catches my gaze from the corner of his eye. "Have you read any other books by Eryn Li?" he questions.

Okay, so now he is talking to me. I mean, don't get me wrong, I hate the idea of classes and the social structure, but this is strange.

I hesitate, but not long enough to make it awkward, "Yeah, a few."

He seems about my age, but he's tall too so it's hard to tell. He also has a relatively strong appearance. And he's polite, or at least is trying to be.

"It's a good book, well written too. It actually made me enjoy reading again," he stops for a second before continuing, "I'm Calvin by the way."

His casual nature is very unknown to me, any other Upper-class would've already taken what they pleased and stormed off. I don't even know what to make of what's happening. I could not reply and look like a jerk, or I could just play along. I decide on the latter. "I'm Oliver," I say.

He flashes me a quick smile, then goes back to staring down at the book he's holding. He is definitely Upper-class, there's no way any Lower-class could afford to pay for whatever he did to get his teeth so white.

It's obvious that we both understand that this interaction is unnatural by social standards, but neither of us have exactly cared enough to do anything about it. Either of us could storm off right now, and society would seem just the same as before. But we both stayed there.

I look at the book in my hands and start to feel guilty. He was so nice to me, so he at least deserves to have the book first. "You know you can have this right?"

He doesn't look up from the book he's holding, "That's what Upper-class wants you to think, but I want you to have it. Like I've said, I've already read it."

Something about what he said tells me that he's not much of a fan of classes and their 'rules' either, and it kind of made me smile a little.

"But I feel bad for taking it, considering how nice you've been."

Calvin peers at me through the shelf. "Because Upper-class can't be nice to a Lower-class?" He asks sceptically.

I basically skip over my own words to recover, "That's not what I mean, it was just... I didn't expect it really." I glance over at him, he looks pretty entertained by my babbling.

"I'm joking, I'm joking," he laughs, "You don't need to pay me back for being nice, I know it's kind of rare but I'm no hero for being a decent person."

I still don't feel like I have the right to this book. "I know but-"

"If you try and give me that book, then we'll have a problem."

I laugh at that. This guy has so much confidence. Not only was he nice to me first, basically ignoring his origin and societal norms as a whole, but he persisted and reassured me he wasn't against me. I mean I asked for a cliché and I kind of got one, only it's not a love story, it just seems so much like the movies where zones and regulations don't exist. And he honestly makes me hate the laws a lot more than I already did.

Calvin tells me to wait a moment and rounds the shelf so we could talk better. He opens the conversation to our favourite authors, and we exchange a few, finding some common ground among our favourites. I name a lot more than he could but he explains that he hadn't read much recently.

"Since you read so much, what did you read last?" Calvin asks, keeping on topic.

"Basically, it was a book about a psychopath being disgustingly in love with their victim." I go on and explain the plot with enough detail to keep the conversation flowing but leaving out enough of the important detail so as to not spoil the plot.

I kind of accidentally lose myself in the explanation and pause when I realise. But it didn't bother Calvin. His interest remained throughout my entire explanation, watching me gently, his eyes following my expressions. And for once it didn't make me uncomfortable, usually I hate eye contact from anyone, especially from an Upper-class.

"That's definitely a complicated book, but it sounds interesting."

"Psychopathy and sociopathy are definitely interesting to read..." I hesitate, "until it's not."

He nods simply.

We don't say much after that, we just stay there. Calvin seems to be negotiating whether he is going to borrow one of the books he found on the shelves, but comes to the conclusion that he's going to leave it. He then checks his phone before slipping it away hastily.

"I would love to stay, but I have somewhere I need to be sorry," he apologised.

I jumped in, "Are you sure you can't take it?"

He laughs through his bright smile. "I can take it once you've read it and returned it. That's how these libraries work," Calvin says playfully.

But I don't take no for an answer. "I can probably finish this book by tomorrow."

"No, you don't-"

"And then we can meet here tomorrow, and I can give the book to you."

"You don't have to rush!"

I smile, "Trust me I could read a book three times the size in a night if I really wanted to." Definitely not the best example to use, because it shows my inner social outcast, but still relevant.

Calvin stops and considers it, deciding whether he should take my offer. And finally, he nods. "Fine," he checks his phone again, "this time tomorrow?"

"Sure."

He starts casually backing towards the front of the shop, throwing up a wave. "I'll see you then Oliver," he says with a final smile.

I wave and find myself smiling back.

- - -

I read almost the entire way home. I read on the train and while walking through the streets, all the way back to my house. If people think phones are problems, they obviously haven't met me.

I'm still reading as I walk through the door to my house. My mum is sitting in our small lounge room watching TV. Not surprisingly, she has a drink in her hand and more on the table.

"How was your day at school?" she asks, with a clear tone of disinterest.

My mum forces herself to ask the same questions every day because she thinks she has to talk to me, even though both of us would rather the quiet. It's the only option that she can stand when it comes to involving herself with me and my life.

"It was okay." I mumble as I pass through the lounge room to head to my room. Now that my attention has been so uselessly ripped from my book, all I want to do is tell someone about Calvin. It was such a strange, but nice, experience. I know for a fact that I can't tell Mum, she's not the right person to talk to about anything, ever. The only other option would be dad, but he's still going to be at work for a while yet.

I drag myself down the hallway and open the door to my very dark room. I must have forgotten to pull my blinds up. I stumble through the dark and feel around for the switch to my lamp. I turn it on and fall onto my bed, letting the words of the book consume my mind as I continue to wind through the story.

Once dad comes home, I convince myself to put the book down to have some form of dinner. Dad and I talk for a while, but I know I shouldn't bring Calvin up, so I don't, I'll only be asking for trouble from Mum.

I sculk back to my bed and several hours later, I've finished the book. Another cliché but deserved happy ending. I told him it wouldn't be a problem, I think to myself and roll over to check the time. Dull numbers blink at me and it takes a moment for me to focus. The clock reads '1:24 AM' which isn't too late, but it's not like I have a solid sleeping schedule to compare it to anyway. I roll over again, onto my back, and stare at the cracks lying idle in the ceiling, thinking about the book, and the library… and Calvin. A shy smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. I pull the pillow out from under my head and bury my face in it, in an attempt to suppress it.

Not again.