The Bookshelves

It's May, the exams have started and everyone is taking them - except Audrey. She's at home, doing nothing, not feeling much. She spends her time reading or playing Bloons Tower Defence - and has been waiting for weeks for someone - "Peter Brel" - to return the book "The Bookshelves" to the library so she can read it, but the goddamn bastard never does! And one day, meeting at a conference at the library, she sees Peter, a chubby nerd with a Space Invaders t-shirt. She agrees with herself to take revenge over him in the form of a prank, but ends up having to introduce herself to him.

0Likes
0Comments
208Views

1. Chapter I

Cambridgeshire Libraries had, indifferently, for the second time told me that I still was number 1 in queue, but the one who had the book hadn’t returned it, and therefore I couldn’t have it yet.
”Shit,” I said, looking at the computer screen. As I didn’t have many other feelings, I chose to feel angry with this hideous human being, not returning the book to the library. It was the only copy the library had! It didn’t matter as much if the library had 10 copies, but they had only one! As a matter of fact, I once stole a copy of a Curious George book from a library. I must’ve been about 5 years old. I don’t feel bad yet. I mean, they have hundreds of these!
I have to admit; I had spent many minutes stalking his Library Profile, not revealing much. Peter Brel. Unknown age. Unknown sex as well, but I assume he must have been a male. Not many women are named Peter after all. Although if she was a woman, she had deserved to be named Peter. I glanced at his profile once more before making myself check my situation instead. I had read just four novels that week and it was Thursday. It wasn’t overwhelming many, but you might wonder how I could keep up with school while reading. Answer: I couldn’t. Everybody had started the exams and I was just sitting here, 9 PM, being ridiculously angry with someone I had never met. Peter sure had finished his exams. Maybe 10 years ago. Why it was so difficult for me, I couldn’t tell. Some months ago I had started to isolate myself and started to feel bad and weird. I kept feeling bad and weird, and eventually I ended up in the mental hospital.  And eventually I came back home – apparently to stay home. They couldn't even give me a satisfying diagnose. I knew it wasn't just depression.

 

The weather outside was fantastic, the birds sang and the wind danced calmly with the leaves in a May-mild way. As I had no one to spend time with and no school to go to, I used most of my time behind walls. I like going outside though, so I made sure so go outside once in a while. This must have been one of those times, for I was going to a Library conference.
Because I was member of the Cambridgeshire Library Club for Young Booklovers (partly against my will), I went to meet at the Central Library in Cambridge every second month. All we did there was to talk about books or read, actually we all just walked around in our CLCYB t-shirts, saying that and our names. Though we were about 70-80 people, it could be fairly boring. I spent most of the time finding a corner and reading. Just seeing the other people, being confirmed other than me and my mother existed, was enough “outside” for me these days.
So, I had realized today was one of these days, but I hoped my mother hadn’t. I almost waited for her to call “You going to that CYB-CLY-CCLYB-something today?!” No matter how many months I had been a member, I guess she would never learn to say C. L. CYB, though we, in the club, tend to say somehow “clycob”.  I know I had to go out, but today I felt tired and irritated. Reaching 10:30 PM, it finally came.
“Honey! Are you going to that CACLOB-something today?!” she yelled from downstairs.
Well, I guess I was. The weather was nice after all. I heard small hyper footsteps on the way to me, and I assumed my mother has sent our dog, Memma, to “wake me up”. Having a dog named Memma could be frustrating once in a while; it sounds a lot like Momma or Mamma. So when we had our 4-year old niece with her parents over and she called (very loudly and annoying) “MAMMA!” our little ADHD dog came running. God, I was so fond of that dog. But God, it farted a lot. That was the only plus with having our niece and her parents over. She’d nearly cry whenever Memma farted. I don’t know if you have ever smelt a dog fart, but they’re horrible, and Memma’s was twice as horrible. She came running up to me, jumping in my arms and as she tried to lick my face to death I threw her in my bad. She knew my bed way too well. She had apparently not understood my mother’s task, for she hurried to the end of the bed and crumbled together as if to sleep. I looked at her, and she looked awaiting at me, and with those cute dog eyes I simply had to obey her and lie down. I always wore two duvets when sleeping for Memma. One “this is the actual duvet”-duvet and one “dog-fart-proof” layer of duvet.

It may not have helped much, and I’m not sure it made very much sense but it gave me something to smile at.

My mother came up herself, now.
“Godda-“she said, and smiled. She was never angry with me. I don’t think she felt that she could be, when I was going through all this, or had been going through all sort of stuff.
“Get ready, it starts in 40 minutes or so,” she told me and threw some clean clothes on my bed and went again. I knew she wanted me to wear pretty clothing so bad, but I couldn’t help but just wearing jogging pants (though I sure wasn’t gonna jog any soon) and a hoodie.
Now you may picture me as one of those cute little girls wearing oversized hoodies but still look cute. I wasn’t. First of all, I wasn’t really small. I was chubby. I knew I wasn’t fat, or overweight, but I had a little extra. I didn’t really intend to lose it. I mean, talking from experience I believe that girls never are satisfied with themselves. They never think “Now I’ve lost enough and now I’m very pretty and skinny and have a healthy body”. I’ve seen too many anorexic girls and girls suffering from bulimia to have a wish for losing anything but hair under my armpits.
I was about 1.73 centimetres, and I know it’s not tall but it’s neither small nor cutey-cutey. But I better had to start cracking to not show up too late. But I did show up a little late every time and I did this time as well.

 

*    *    *

 

I'll write more on this chapter later! <3

 

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...