Disclaimer: I own nothing, except Emilie and the plot.
Isolation. That's the best word I can think of to describe the way it feels when I'm shelving. The shelves are tall enough to resemble caves, and with music blaring in my ears, it just gets really easy to forget that any other people exist in the world at all. Today was one of those days. There weren't any major dramas in my life currently, it was the last week of summer, and one of my guilty pleasure songs came on my ipod. Oh yeah, Kenny Loggin's "Footloose" made for the perfect dance break. Giving in to the ridiculousness of the eighties, I cut loose. And, typical, right when I'd really hit my groove, someone had to walk by.
Frozen in mid-twist, I gave an involuntary wince of embarrassment when I saw it was Warren, standing there, arms crossed, with the snarkiest smirk on his face.
"Working hard?" he asked, feigning seriousness.
"Diligently." I replied in mock innocence, but ultimately unable to keep the smile off my face. "How do you always catch me when I'm doing something ridiculous?" I questioned in disbelief.
He just shrugged, the smile slowly slipping from his face, but I swear I could still see laughter in his eyes. Definitely a personal best, I congratulated myself, I had him smiling for almost a whole minute there.
My personal award ceremony was interrupted when Warren nodded to the right, "Time for your break yet?"
"Yeah," I said, following him as he led the way to the reading area. Boys are so clueless, I thought to myself. Warren had become a regular at the library over the summer, coming in at almost the same time every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and after his first couple arrivals, always found me in the stacks and asked if it was time for my break. I guess he never noticed that no matter the time, I always said yes.
I bit my lip to try to hide my smile as Warren went to the same seat he always sat in, and I settled into the chair across from him. Silently we both pulled out our books of choice, each knowing full well that we'd not get more than one page read before one of us interrupted with a question. The question ritual started by accident. We used to just read silently, and when one of us got up to go back to work, the other would take it as his cue to return as well, but Emma changed all that. Unable to keep my discontent with Emma Woodhouse to myself, I asked aloud, "Who plays matchmaker with their friends?" Meaning it as a rhetorical question, I was more than shocked when Warren answered, "I have."
Blow away that he'd not only spoken, but by the visual a Warren as some kind of Cupid, I stared back at him. "No way. When?"
So that's how our, I guess, friendship began. Warren told me about how he helped out his friend, Layla, make the guy she liked jealous, and then how they'd all ended up as friends. In fair trade, he asked me a question, and it all just kind of grew from there; no subject was off limits (though Warren's responses did tend to get rather vague), and we hit every subject from family to the number of consecutive cartwheels I can do. So it was no surprise, when after only one page into my novel, Warren spoke up.
"Okay. When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?"
Pulling my legs up so I was sitting crossed-legged in the chair, and settling in for the conversation, I cringed. "You're going to laugh at me, but honestly, I wanted to be a turtle."
"A turtle?" he shook his head in incredulity.
"Yup. That was the big dream, and I wanted it all- the shell, the tail, the whole thing. But when I told my mom, she told me that that wasn't possible, and to think about being a teacher or doctor. I remember being crushed; doctors and teachers just sounded so boring, so I thought about it forever, and came up with a plan B: a fairy godmother. What about you? What was little Warren going to be? A doctor? A firefighter?"
Warren let out a laugh, and just shook his head, "Not a chance. I was going to be a superhero."
"Ahh, yes, of course, the thing every little boy dreams of being. What did you do when you found out you'd missed out on the superhero gene?"
"Who says I'm not a superhero in disguise?"
Now it was my turn to laugh, "Ha, right. I am physically incapable of imagining you in a spandex suit. But, seriously, what did you do when you discovered that you just didn't come from a family of heroes?"
His face darkened a little, "What everyone does I guess, try to keep reminding yourself that who your family is doesn't determine who you are. At least not completely."
Unsettled by such a personal answer from him, I was speechless, but only for a second.
"Well, okay, then, Warren the Superhero, what was going to be your superpower?"
"Pyrokinesis."
"What is that, like flame-throwing? That's a pretty big word for a kid, but you know, I think that would definitely fit you. I could see it."
He smiled knowingly at me, "What about you, Emilie the Citizen, if you could have a power, what would you choose?"
"Hmm," I considered. "Well, I guess super strength or being able to fly would be cool, but, I don't know, they're kind of banal. Don't you think? I'd definitely want something that would be handy in daily life too. Oh, I've got it. Ready? The powers of persuasion."
Warren looked back at me skeptically.
"Oh, come on. That would be a good one. You could talk a villain down, and then no bystander would get hurt from being in the middle of a fight. And then I could use it to get out of sticky situations too. Like if I got pulled over for speeding, I could talk the cop out of giving me a ticket. That's a good one, right?" I looked at him hopefully, asking him to concede that my imaginary power would be a good one.
"Okay," he gave in. "That's a decent one. So would you be a private hero, hired out by corporations, or a public servant, who has to come whenever he's called?"
"Definitely the pro-bono hero." I said without hesitation. "I don't think I could just let anyone face danger alone. I don't do that now. Do you know that's the only time I've every really gotten in trouble at school? I hit a girl." I shook my head, still mad at myself for the whole ordeal. Worried about what Warren might think about this violent side of me, I glanced at him to see what he was thinking.
Surprise and intense curiosity were the only things I found there, absolutely no judgment. I guess he could tell what I was thinking because he looked back at me and said, "I'm the last person to criticize someone for throwing a punch. And I highly doubt that you'd hit someone without a good reason."
His acceptance mollified me into giving him the long version.
"She did deserve it. She was the senior popularity queen; she was in my French class. And she'd spend the entire period making the most disgusting comments about everyone in the class she'd deemed were inferior to her, which in her mind was just about everyone. After about a month of it, I just snapped. She was writing a sentence on the board which basically said that the girl who sat next to me was fat cow who should just kill herself, and her ladies in waiting were giggling at in the back, and the teacher didn't do a thing. I don't even remember thinking; I just got out of my seat, walked to the board, and punched her in the face. Ugh, the worst part, the part that makes me question my sanity a little is that fact that I'm still damn proud that I did it. I still think it was the right thing to do. Isn't that crazy?"
Warren answered simply, "She was a villain."
"Who wore designer clothes?"
He shrugged, "She was doing something wrong, the teacher who should have stopped her didn't, so you stepped in and did what you thought was right."
"Maybe," I thought aloud. "I think villain is a little bit harsh of a word for her, but I guess on a very small scale it could be compared to a hero/villain battle. I think that's something that people gets carried away with. It's hard to label someone a hero or villain. What do you have to do to be called either one?"
"It's pretty simple. Person who does bad things equals a villain, and the guy who protects the citizens and saves the day is the hero." He spelled it out slowly, exaggerating his intelligence. I laughed at the act.
"Thanks, teach. Not quite what I meant, but I think we've I've exhausted this subject enough don't you think?"
"I couldn't agree more," he said, a relaxed smile crawling over his previously focused features. "I should probably get back to work anyways. See you Saturday." He started putting his book back in his bag, preparing to go.
Mustering up my confidence, I struggled to ask him the thing I'd wanted to ask him for a week now. Just say it, Emilie. I stood up, the same time as Warren and said, "Or Friday. I mean, I was thinking that Chinese food sounded good, and, well, you know we always hang out at my place of employment. So, I don't know, I thought that maybe I could eat at the Paper Lantern tomorrow. You know, if that's alright. I wouldn't want to get in your way at work, or anything." I finally managed to get out, completely flustered. I looked up to see Warren's face deep in concentration as an awkward silence settled over us.
Just wanting the mortifying moment to end, I decided to give him an easy way out, "You know what, don't worry abou-"
But he cut me off, "No, that sounds like a plan. I was just thinking that Will and everyone usually come in on Fridays, but I'd like you to meet them, and I know Layla is curious about you. So I'll see you at about eight-thirty tomorrow night? I'll be the one in the apron, carrying the food."
I couldn't help it, I was beaming. Warren wanted me to come see him tomorrow, and meet his friends who I'd heard about all summer. But the real kicker, the comment I knew was going to keep me smiling for at least the rest of my shift was that he said Layla was curious about me, which must mean that he's at least talked about me a little to the rest of his friends. Feigning nonchalance, I tried to diminish my grin a little bit, when I looked back up at him.
"Okay. Tomorrow, eight-thirty, the Paper Lantern. I'll be the redhead trying to get the waiter's attention."
After watching him round the shelf on his way out, I danced all the way back to my cart of books, and this time I didn't even need Kenny Loggin's serenading me.
Tah-dah! I can't believe I posted this next chapter so fast, but it's been swimming around for a while. I know the story is still going a little slow and the chapter is rather short, but I need them to have a comfortable friendly relationship before the plot really starts rolling. Next chapter will definitely be longer, and finally have some action in it. It'll be at the Paper Lantern, and all of the other canons will be there, so it should be interesting to see how long the super hero thing can remain a secret. Hope everyone caught the couple of ironies in this chapter. And Emilie's wanting to be a turtle when she was little is all me, my mom thought I was crazy. Oh, next chapter won't be up until at least the weekend cause I'm finally moving back to school(!) and I don't know how long it'll take for me to get internet back up, hopefully, my roomies will already have it running.
I'd love any ideas that pop into your head about the story- things you think should happen, or details, whatever. It just helps. Please review.
