“Any preference?” he asked, taking in the selection.
I shrugged. “Not really.”
“Anything you absolutely hate?”
I raised my eyebrows at him and then smiled.
“In the machine,” he said, not taking my bait.
“No, whatever you want.”
He chose another Payday. Probably a good choice.
It was a small room, which I would think would mean it would be warmer than if it had been in the main part of the library. But it wasn’t. It was probably because a window, fogged with frost, took up a big portion of the back wall.
Dax picked up the remote to a television that sat on a metal rolling cart. He handed it to me then left the room without a word.
Okay, guess he didn’t want to watch television, just quarantine me. I must’ve completely ruined his weekend. His weekend of what? Reading? Being alone in a big library? Maybe he’d planned on stealing something here and I’d ruined that. Did the library have anything to steal?
I pointed the remote at the television and pushed power. I flipped through the channels—golf, tennis, cartoons, an old movie. I stopped there, sat on the couch, and opened the Payday.
“Was this the only choice?” Dax asked, coming back into the break room. He now had on a sweatshirt and was carrying the red sleeping bag, which he plopped on my lap before sitting down on the opposite end of the couch.
I was so surprised that I stuttered out, “N-no,” and handed him the remote.
He changed it and stopped on the cartoon—Scooby-Doo. I wrapped myself up in the sleeping bag. It smelled good, musky, and I wondered if that’s what Dax smelled like up close. Then I wondered why I would wonder something like that.
We watched the cartoon in silence for several minutes before I said, “You’d think after the thousandth time of the monster actually being a person in disguise that they’d check and see if he had a mask on first.”
“Then it would be a two-minute show.” A small smile played across his lips. Maybe he had a sense of humor in there somewhere after all. Buried deep. Maybe at the bottom of his duffel bag.
His bag. It was in the other room alone, unsupervised. He was just opening his candy, settling into the couch. He even put his feet up on the coffee table. I had at least ten minutes. I made a show of stretching. I had taken two bites of my candy bar. I needed to save it for later anyway. I tucked it back into its wrapper and set it on the table along with the Cheez-Its.
“I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”
“No need—”
“Right. You don’t want to know.” How hard was a simple okay? I was used to telling people where I was going because I was always with a group, not that it had done me much good last night. Maybe he wasn’t used to having to report his whereabouts because he was always alone. I looked over my shoulder as I reached the door. His focus was entirely on the television. This was perfect.
CHAPTER 7
When I got to the library section, Dax’s bag wasn’t where I’d seen it last. Had he hidden it? But then I realized he’d just tucked it under the chair. I rushed forward, knowing I didn’t have a lot of time, and squatted down. The black handle stuck out so I gave it a tug. It was wedged a little and it took me a couple of good yanks to free. I listened carefully to make sure I didn’t hear him coming.
Undoing that zipper was the loudest five seconds of my life. It seemed to echo through the whole room as I held my breath. Once it was open I glanced over my shoulder to make sure I was still in the clear. I was. The bag contained everything an overnight bag might: toiletries (I was going to kill him for not telling me he had toothpaste), extra clothes, socks, a couple of protein bars (was he planning to share those?), and finally, finally, at the bottom of the bag I found what I was looking for. A phone. It was an old flip one and when I opened it the screen was dark.
I wasn’t sure how to turn it on. I held down the side button for a few seconds. Nothing happened. So I tried the button with a picture of a green phone on it. Still nothing.
“Really?” Dax said from behind me.
I twirled toward him, still in my squatting position, and immediately lost my balance and fell on my butt. His phone was now held out in front of me in plain sight.
“You have a phone,” I said. “I’m stuck here and you have a phone.”
“You went through my things?” It was a question but the anger in his voice made it more of an accusation.
“I had to, because you told me you didn’t have a phone, but you really do. I just want to call my family. I’m sure they’re worried about me.”
“Go ahead.” He pointed to the phone.
Was this some sort of a trick? I looked at the black screen again. “I can’t turn it on.”
“Exactly.” He plucked it from my hand, shoved it back into his bag, and zipped it up.
“What do you mean exactly? Can you turn it on for me?”
“No, I can’t. It has no minutes and no charge.”
“Oh.” I still sat on the floor and was too deflated to get up. “Well, that’s not very helpful.”
“You know, before coming here, I forgot to think about you and your needs.”
“Why would you pack a dead phone? Is the charger in there?”
“You tell me.”
“Why did you follow me down here, anyway?”
“Because you left the room looking guilty, like you were about to commit a crime.”