Chapter One

The Boy in the Library

Clara picked a roaming copy of The Great Gatsby off of the shelf and blew the dust off of its cover. How her fellow students got to Lambert University without knowing the alphabet was beyond her, but she let that train of thought go with a sigh. Sorting the books at least gave her something to do. Being a library assistant when nobody needed assistance, or, even, the library, was proving rather dull.

As she rolled her cart down to the central hall, she noticed that not a single person sat at any of the large conference tables. The only person in the room was Ms. Guzzle, the head librarian. Like always, she was peering at a computer screen from behind large red spectacles.

The spectacles shifted her way, and Clara instantly made herself look busy, turning to a shelf and running her hands against the spines of the books.

A smile played at her lips as the familiar sensation of old leather rubbed along her fingertips. It had been a long summer holiday, and she was almost glad to be back here, in her element.

She could escape her father's strange series of girlfriends, at least. That was a gift in itself.

A pang of homesickness hit her as she thought of her dad. For a moment, she considered sending a quick text, but Ms. Guzzle's wandering eye brought her hands back to the book cart. She wheeled into a nearby aisle and stopped only when she was out of sight of the librarian.

Her hands whipped her phone out of her pocket and she sent a quick 'hello, what's up' message to her dad. With a little smile playing at her lips, she added a few emojis at the end for good measure. Then she slipped the phone back into her pocket.

Ms. Guzzle would never know her pious assistant had texted on the job. Clara smirked to herself as she brushed her bangs back and looked down the aisle she'd escaped into. Science fiction, if the aliens and time machines inscribed in the covers were to be trusted.

Her eye landed on a figure at the end of the aisle; a man sat at a desk, poring over almost as many books as Clara had in her entire cart. He seemed to be older than most of the students she typically saw on campus, closer to thirty than twenty. His pencil moved through long, twiddling fingers, voice low as he murmured discernible gibberish to himself.

With his Doc Martens tapping restlessly against the floor and his hair a wild mess standing in three different directions, Clara could see he was not having the easy Saturday everyone else seemed to be enjoying.

"No!" He shouted suddenly into the air, snatching up a bit of notebook paper and crumpling it into a ball. He tossed it behind him haphazardly.

Clara jumped back, alarmed, but slowly drew closer with a mix of curiosity and worry.

"You alright there?" She asked.

His head jerked toward her, eyebrows lowering. But then he turned back to his work and started scribbling fast and hard.

"I'm fine," he said firmly. "It's just that the stupid laws of the universe don't make sense."

Clara widened her eyes, raising her brows, and went back to the book cart.

"Okay," she said, drawing out the word. "Good luck with that."

As she retreated, she thought she heard a muttered 'thanks', but she could've very well been imagining it. Her eyes shut as she realized her own awkwardness.

''Good luck with that'?,' she thought to herself. 'What kind of weird rubbish was that, Clara?'

She shook the memory out of her head and got back to work, sorting books and scanning barcodes.

. . .

Just as the sun was reaching its peak, Clara was released from her shift and rushed outside to get a spot on the lawn. Her favorite tree was already taken by some younger students, most likely first-years, but she soon found a nearby tree perfect for reading. Satisfied, she set down her bag and sat cross legged in the grass.

A little ways away, a group of boys tossed around a frisbee. In the other direction, a couple lay in each other's arms. Clara smiled at the scenes surrounding her, something out of a painting, and leaned back easily into the soft grass to drink in the moment.

After a few minutes of pure bliss and contemplation, Clara dug into her bag for Canterbury Tales. It wasn't her favorite novel, and it wasn't for her favorite class either, but she knew she'd have to make herself read it eventually.

It was good practice for her teaching days, she supposed, if she chose to go that route. Then she could really have the high ground when her students 'didn't feel' like doing her readings.

Her imaginary future brought a smile to her face as she sunk into the bark of the tree. It was a perfect day, and a new enough term that she wasn't yet stressed and anxious about her marks. In fact, as she glanced around again, it seemed like nobody was stressed today.

Well, almost nobody.

A familiar man sat beneath the closest tree, still scribbling into his notebook furiously. If it were possible, his eyebrows looked even more cross. He hadn't even bothered to take his backpack off, pushing it into the tree trunk as he leaned back against it.

Clara put a page marker in her book and set it down beside her.

"Hello again," she said with a little smile.

His head darted up in that same peculiar way, like he wasn't used to people noticing or, perhaps, seeing him. He gave her a tiny smile, but with no recognition.

"Did you ever figure out that universe thing?"

His eyes lit up, realizing who she was, and a smile quirked his lip.

"Yes, I did." He looked back at his notebook. "But the universe is being a bit tricky again."

She peered over to look at his notes, a bunch of foreign images and words.

"It looks like a different language to me," she admitted. "Sorry; wish I could help."

He gave her one last smile and got back to work.

She couldn't help but watch him for a few minutes. He was so focused, even in this beautiful weather. She wondered what on Earth he could be working on that was so intricate within the first week of classes, but she decided not to ask. He didn't look like he wanted to be disturbed, and he seemed like he'd be fierce when angered.

She turned back to Chaucer and tried not to think about the universe-solver beside her, still writing and scratching and tearing at his notebook with what seemed like limited success.