The library was always her place of solace. As Devon wandered through the aisles of books, she ran her index finger along the spines. The plastic covers crackled at her touch and as the books got thicker, the crackle became deeper and more satisfying to Devon's ears. She had already gathered an armload of books to read over the weekend, so she checked them out and walked out of the library.
Oz, the vintage comic book/toy store owner, was taping a blue poster to the window. He took one look at Devon, smiled sheepishly (he had never felt comfortable around her since she read War and Peace by Tolstoy in one week), and whistled as he hurriedly passed. He checked over his shoulder before taking off into a run.
Devon rolled her eyes and looked at the poster before gasping and grabbing it off the window. There, below the letters spelling out his wonderful name, was a picture of Sigmund conjuring a turtle while decks of cards, chains, and a top hat swirled about him. He was coming back to Galaxy Hills to do another magic show! Devon clutched the picture to her heart and stuffed it in her book bag along with the volumes she had picked up at the library.
She rushed home and flung open the door to her room. The walls were lined with bookcases that were so full that some books had to be stacked on Devon's dresser and nightstand. There were boxes of books on the floor that needed to be recorded into the systematic card catalogue that she kept in the gray, metal file cabinet in the corner.
Devon reached into her bag, took out the poster, and smoothed it out on her mattress. She smiled at the nice blend of colors between the blue paper and the green quilt. Quickly, she ran over to her dresser and selected two matching tacks from a jar and pinned the poster to the only wall that was not covered in shelves: the space right over her bed.
Stepping back to admire her handiwork, she smiled contentedly.
"Someday," she sighed to the poster, "you'll know how I truly feel about you."
And with that, she, again, reached into her bag. Retrieving a copy of And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie, she settled on her bed and cracked it open. As she scanned the familiar opening lines (she had read this ten times, but hadn't found a suitable copy to purchase as of yet), she felt somewhat comforted knowing that the image of her love was watching over her.