Rule number one of the library: No screaming in the library.

Rule number two of the library: No running in the library.

Rule number three of the library: Not losing your shit in the library.

Okay, I made the last one up, but that's beside the point. Case in point: I'm so getting fired. But you have to understand: I didn't think I'd see this man ever again, even while I was aware he was probably breathing the same air of the city I was in.

I like to hold on to foolish dreams, don't roll your eyes, I'm aware this was bound to happen but I was hoping it wouldn't— not until chapter five or something.

"Sol, are you alright?" Karim eyes me curiously when I stand up, pushing my chair to the side as I struggle to come up with a coherent sentence to give him.

"Lunch — I have the sandwich — in my book — backpack, yeah, backpack." And then sprint out of the circular desk, nearly falling over the little door that let me in on the first place.

"Wait, come back!" I can hear the guy from last night calling, his voice matching perfectly the one that haunted my dreams last night, before he murdered me with the screwdriver. Although, in all honesty, he had every right to murder me and a fork is a feeble excuse as a weapon to defend myself.

A librarian hushes him because he's still calling after me and I pick up my pace, the door to the back room seeming too far for the long strides I'm taking towards it, and that's considering I'm supposed to be tall.

I close the door as quietly as possible behind me. Sighing and covering my face as soon as my back touches the nearest bookshelf. There are two other aids in the room, but I chose to ignore their curious glances and instead focus on what just happened.

He found me. He works for the CIA and the fork that I stole must be some type of new gadget the Russians made and I managed to snatch it from under his nose so he has come to take me out. I mean the Winstons always seemed too nice to be normal elderly neighbors. They must be spies. I watch The Americans, I would know.

He could have also come to check out a book, but that would be too boring, besides, why would he have called me out? He's clearly come to finish the job.

The door to the room opens once more and I stop myself from saying "chingada madre" out loud, which technically means fuck—or fucking mother (not in that literal context, mind you), but closer to fuck, either way it's not language you want to spew out in front of your supervisor, who is the person that walks in after the door has been opened.

Miranda is a five foot, thirty seven year old woman, who has two cockatoos and five lizards. She told me all of these details herself, as well as the names of all of her pets, but all of these had been said to me when she was passing me books or hanging out with me in our lunch break, usually accompanied with laughter and photos of said pets. She doesn't look like she wants to kill me or is ready to fire me at the moment by any means, but she does have a seriousness around her shoulders.

"Sol, what just happened?"

I don't think opening up about the theories I have about the guy that came in and pointed at me are the sensible answer. Nor is it asking her whether she might know if the back room has a secret exit that I might not be aware of, because I'm pretty sure the guy saw me enter this exact room and I do not feel inclined to exiting it any time soon.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have screamed. I saw someone and it brought back bad memories." I push my hair back, feeling everyone's eyes on me.

"The young man outside?"

"Yeah, we didn't exactly meet under the right circumstances –" and by the 'right circumstances' I mean I broke into his house and he chased me out of it, "it won't happen ever again, I promise. I was just surprised."

Miranda looks at me for a while, a part of me feels like she's actually concerned, while the other one fully believes she's going to fire me on the spot.

"Fine, just make sure it doesn't happen again. You freaked some people out, myself included."

I can feel my face burning, my stomach twisting with embarrassment. This is possibly the worst thing that has happened ever since I fell in front of everyone in the middle the whole courtyard back in middle school. Like straight up just face planted the ground. You never get over something like that, not when the cute guy from fourth period was watching.

"Don't worry, it won't." I assure her.

"Okay," she lets out a small laugh, "but that was pretty funny."

"You're laughing at me?"

"Just a little."

I try to laugh it off, too, but I still can't get the image of him out of my head. He seemed as surprised as I was when he saw me, but when he called me out I couldn't help but feeling like a criminal, not that running away helped in any manner.

"Can you help Karim, though? You left in the middle of your shift." Miranda holds the door open for me. "And, by the way, if you have any trouble with the guy from before, just tell me."

I nod, a little too eagerly, ready to get out of this awkward situation already. When I walk outside I catch a few students looking my way, hushed laughter behind their hands, but I ignore most of it as I make my way back into the inner circle of the circulation desk. Karim is finishing up with someone when I sit back down on my chair. The guy from before nowhere to be seen.

"So what happened?" Karim asks rolling around to grab some papers from the printer.

"Well, I didn't get fired." Though I'm fairly certain that I'll somehow be written up for causing a ruckus.

"I mean with the guy. That was some Cinderella moment right there." He gives a quick glance around the library, taking out his phone and passing it to me. "Someone even put you guys in the school's Snapchat story."

My blood runs cold. I quickly open up his app and move past the camera option and into the stories he's following. The last thing I need right now is social exposure, but, sure enough, once I'm inside the school's story I find the video within a few taps. It's taken right after the guy points his finger at me, saying "You" way too loud and getting the attention of — well, everyone. Then I'm screaming, standing up and running away. The girl taking the video laughing and muttering "Oh my God, what?" as she follows me and the guy with her phone. The short video finishing up before I enter the room, though this doesn't matter because the following video is also of me and the guy, from a different angle. The caption "What happened?" with three laughing crying faces cutting through the middle of the screen.

No wonder everyone was staring at me when I walked out of the room.

"What if you become a meme?" Asks Karim, taking his phone back.

I roll my eyes, undoing the small ponytail I made with my bangs and attempting one more time to make one with all of my hair, simply giving up and making a hair bun halfway down my head.

"If I become a meme I'll get rich, and I won't be sharing any of my money with you."

"Salty."

I throw him the nearest paper clip, faking a smile as a student approaches the desk.

🌥

I'm stepping out of the elevator when I remember that I have to go grocery shopping. It's not really a hassle, considering the nearest supermarket is two blocks away from the north side of the college, I can easily get there by biking. The problem is getting all I need in my bike.

Be eco-friendly, they said. It'll be fun, they said.

I don't bike to be eco-friendly, not entirely, that's the vegans job. Dad and I don't have enough money to get a new car, not ever since what happened to the old one, which we haven't fixed yet. So I'm stuck with biking around, at least it keeps my legs looking good as fuck. I can't wait for it to be summer again so I can wear all the shorts and dresses I can get my hands on.

I wave a quick goodbye to the lady in the front of the main desk at the bookstore, pushing past the glass doors of the library and welcoming the cool January air as it hits my cheeks. The sun is peeking through the trees planted outside the library which offer enough shade for it to feel like it's colder than fifty degrees.

"Hey,"

Oh my God I swear I will feed my first born to Cthulhu if it means I never have to see you again. I stop walking. Holding my backpack strap, I turn to my right, and sure enough, there is the guy from yesterday leaning against one of the trees. One earphone on while the other one falls across his maroon jacket, both hands inside the pockets of his jeans.

I look around, since the current set of classes don't end till five-forty-five, the sidewalks are technically empty. There's a few students hanging out over some picnic tables, but they're out of earshot.

"Should I get a restraining order?" I say, holding his gaze. His lips quirk up.

"Shouldn't that be my line?"

"You're the one that came into my work."

"Last time I heard of it, the library is open to students, which is what I am. You were the one that started screaming like I was going to shoot you."

Trying not to cringe too hard, I take a step backwards, already turning away from him.

"Look, it was lovely meeting you again —" I move my hand in circular motion, because the Lord knows what his name is.

"Ethan."

"Yeah, well, Ethan — if that's your real name, I have to go." I begin to move away, the bike rack is close to the people I saw earlier, and I'm not even three meters away from it when I hear he's walking behind me.

"Are we going to ignore the fact you broke into a hom—" he doesn't get to finish his thought though, because the moment he mentioned the word "broke" I whirled around and slapped a hand over his mouth. My heart beating a hundred beats per second as my eyes fly to the people at the picnic table.

"What are you saying out in the public?" I hiss.

He takes my wrist, pushing my hand aside.

"This could be considered assault." To his credit he does lower his voice, but the people on the table seem too entertained with something on their phone to pay us any attention.

"You're the one that's following me around. That's harassment."

Ethan sighs, letting my hand go and pushing his own inside the pockets of his jacket.

"Look, I didn't call the cops on you last night."

I nod, relief washing over me even though I am well aware of that, taking in mind I'm not currently sitting in a jail cell waiting for the people at the club to pay my bail as they promised they'd do if I got caught (though I didn't entirely believe them).

"That is greatly appreciated, would you like a pat in the back? Some Skittles? A coupon for Burger King?"

"The key for my grandparents' house would be more appropriate." Oh, so that's what this was all about. For some reason I was thinking he was just following me to make me feel bad about breaking the law, which he is, he totally is, but at least he makes more sense when asking for the key.

And I would gladly give it to him, believe me, I would.

Except I don't have it, not anymore.

Run, Forest, run! Screams a voice in my head, but I force myself to hold my ground instead of impulsively doing the first thing that comes to mind, lest I end up on Snapchat again.

"I don't have it."

"Bull."

"I swear, I don't. If I did, and I don't, I'd give it to you. It wasn't my idea to enter your grandparents' house, but I can promise you it'll never happen again; I'll make sure of it." I'm not about to rat out the club, aside from being club policy, it would be the shitty thing to do. It's like the Fight Club, except we just talk about historical events and volunteer at the local museum...as far as I know.

"But the thing is, shortcakes, that I don't want a copy of my house key somewhere—"

"Wait, wait, wait...did you just call me shortcakes?" Really, that's all I heard him say.

"Well, you are pretty short."

"I am five-seven and a half, you can round that up to five eight, I'm tall—"

"I'm six foot two, I'm technically taller, so," he looks up, as if making calculations, "yeah that means you're shorter than me, sorry shortcakes."

If there's anything more annoying that his statement, is the side smile he gives me when he says that stupid nickname. I close my eyes, opening my mouth to tell him off and how he's wrong, but then I close it, hand still in mid air.

Shit, he's right.

"I know you don't trust me," I reel the conversation back to the key.

"I don't."

"But I promise on my...honor," I was about to put my cat's life on the line for this promise, but she's too precious for something like this, "that no one will break into your house from today onwards."

Ethan smiles, shaking his head as he considers me. The sun filtering through the branches above us creates patterns over his skin and clothes.

"Your honor?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Why is it that you make that word sound so sarcastic?"

A small breeze pushes through the campus, rustling some of the trees around us and making me wish I'd brought a hoodie to school with me. Ethan crosses his arms, his stance nearly matching the sass level I wish to achieve one day.

"I just find it hard to believe that a person that broke into my house for a fork last night has much honor on their back. You haven't even told me why you needed the fork in the first place."

"What do you think I'm going to go back to your house for? Steal your cat?" A possibility, I won't lie.

"He's a family relic. I have to keep it safe."

"What's its name?" From what I had seen last night, they had a ragdoll.

"I don't think I remember. I might if you tell me what your name is."

"I don't fall for cheap tricks like that, Ethan."

"Pity, I wanted to file a police report."

I huff, stealing a glance at the sky. I don't want it to get too late to go for groceries and then get back home, and this guy has taken up too much of my time already. Concha is probably already waiting by the front door as she usually does, too, and just thinking about my cat alone makes me want to hurry up.

"You know what? Fine, I'll get you the stupid key, but I won't be able to get it until I meet with my cl— people." Though getting something off Anna seems as impossible and as deadly as trying to bargain for something in the black market.

"I don't trust your word."

"Well, you're going to have to, buddy, because that's all you have to get that piece of metal back." I take off my backpack to grab the keys of my bike, I can feel his eyes on me as I select the right one for the lock I bought. "Stop staring, I already told you I don't have yours."

The chain comes undone, allowing me to take my egg yolk color bike off the rack, the basket on the front just big enough for a few things, but the one on the back being the perfect size to fit some five or six grocery bags.

Before I climb on my vehicle of choice, though, I extend my hand to Ethan.

"Your phone."

His light brown eyes narrow, but he still removes his phone from his pocket, unlocks it, and hands it to me. I can tell just by the vibes around his body that he half expects me to take off running with his device. What a drama queen.

I input my phone number, using the sun emoji as my name as an inside joke, since my nickname means Sun in Spanish, as well as a way to keep my anonymity.

"Here. Send me a message and I'll save your number. I'll text you when I have the key."

"And when do you think that will be?"

"Whenever I text you."

"You don't reveal much, you know that?" I can't tell if the way he says that is with interest or annoyance, but either way, he takes a step back, allowing me enough space to push my bike into the sidewalk.

I get on my bike, flashing him a smile as place one foot on the pedal. "A proper thief keeps her secrets well guarded."

🌥

"Ya llegué," I call when I push the door of the apartment open. The strain of the plastic bag forcing my arms down as Concha runs towards me, meowing as if I'd left her alone for a decade instead of ten hours. "Hola, mi amor."

The house is empty except for Concha, dad usually gets home around six thirty or so, which means I still have time to make something for dinner or order pizza, depending on how lazy I feel in about ten minutes.

I place all my bags on the table. Figuring out which has what and separating them so I know which to take to the bathroom and which are for the kitchen. I nearly dropped one when I was making my way back home, I really should invest on buying some tote bags, Diane would be proud, but I need the plastic bags to use them as trash bags.

My phone buzzes and I instinctively look at the clock.

Ah, she's probably in the bus by now.

Dusting my hands against jeans, (which I really should take off and put on a pair of sweats, what has the world come down to?) I take my phone from its place on the table, and open up the text message that just rung.

Mami: Just got out of work. How was your day?

I smile, replying to my mom with: Bien, I just got home. How's the weather in Monterrey?

Every time I text with her I can't help but feel a tug in my chest. It's about to be a year since she was deported, after all.

Concha pushes her head against my thigh, reminding me that she's hungry and that I have not opened that can of tuna she's been meowing at since I took it out of the plastic bag. Slipping my phone in my pocket, I get up and open the can for her. After I put the contents in her bowl, I get another message, though this one isn't from mom.

Anna: Remember about the meeting this week~

Then right after, the rest of the club floods in. .

Carlos: Anna it's Monday.

Anna: Just wanted to remind you in case you guys forgot ;)

Scott: Yo, can I dress up as Hamilton?

Alan: Dude I was going to dress up as Hamilton.

Scott: I'll dress as Burr if you dress up as Hamilton, bro.

And so the avalanche of messages begins. I mute the group chat while I get everything for dinner ready when I hear the door's lock give in and dad walks into the house. Just then, I get another message, though this time, it's mom for sure.

Mami: It rained today. Los extraño.

🌥

Ya llegué means I'm here, though it is also used in the sense of one saying "I'm home".

Mami and Papi, means mommy and daddy. It's used differently across Spanish speaking countries, though that's the main context. Sometimes people only call their mother/father these terms, sometimes they call hot people that, sometimes they call anyone these terms.

Extrañar means to miss. As in missing somebody, not missing your bus lol.