Tell Me Our Story

O’Hara called after him, voice rising as the distance between them grew. “Why does that sound . . . Jonathan? What will you do with me?”

O’Hara in a crowd, eyes sparkling, mischief playing in his smile.

Since you all keep asking I figured I’d do an informal announcement. Yes, I know who I’ll be pairing with for this year’s Social Challenge! I’ll give you more details Sunday.

Chapter Four

An entirely foreseeable surprise

“Ben.” Jonathan crouched. Ben’s cheeks were ruddy and smeared with something sticky. “Your mum will be here soon.” She’d asked if he’d mind keeping an eye on Ben after the Hungry Caterpillar reading in the children’s corner that morning. Of course Jonathan had agreed. “Come work with me at the counter.”

Ben stood on a chair and Jonathan let him press books against the scanner. He swiped with glee.

“Not so hard.”

“Like this?”

“Hm. Better.”

Ben cried when it was time for him to go, pulling on Jonathan’s sleeve, begging to stay longer.

Jonathan patted his soft locks. “Next week.”

Cleaning up the children’s corner came next. He never ceased to be surprised at how much mess was left behind. Muddy streaks on the carpet, a wet pillow in one corner, lolly wrappings. His colleague helped, and stayed long enough to give him a lunch break, then signed off for the day. The afternoon passed slowly. Super, super slowly—

He pulled out his phone under the lip of the counter.

He scrolled past the latest competition update to Giant George and Mira, announcing their partnership for the challenge. The rest of the thread was dominated by über photo-shopped lovers French kissing.

“Ridiculous.”

An insistent finger clamped over his screen and urged the phone down. Jonathan lowered it and acknowledged his grinning sibling on the other side of the library’s front desk. “You’ve been distracted all day. Hell, since you got back from Sydney.”

Hardly a fair assessment. He’d come home, handed Savvy the poster of O’Hara, and got back to life as usual. Albeit with the desire to read more . . . philosophy.

Savvy raised one eyebrow.

“Hm.”

Mercifully, their phone rang and they whisked outside to take it.

He refocused; his former sports teacher approached the desk with a broad smile and a book. A familiar book. He took her card and swiped the crinkled spine, gripping tightly.

There was only one copy of this in the public library. The high school had one too. It had kickstarted a mutual love of mythology for him and O’Hara—they’d partnered on a history project that’d had this book issued to one or the other of them for weeks. O’Hara hadn’t been as into it as Jonathan, then. He’d been more into the romances.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

The chiming service bell on the counter made Jonathan jump. His teacher had left and Savvy stood before him, head cocked.

He cleared his throat. “Who called you?”

They gnawed their bottom lip in a way that had Jonathan sharpening his senses.

“Actually, so, I can’t close up with you? I have a date?”

Jonathan froze.

“I’m meeting up with him in ten.”

“. . .”

Savvy rolled their eyes. “I’m almost sixteen. We’re just grabbing a quick milkshake before his choir practice.”

“Choir!”

“Don’t start acting like choir is full of rakehells who’ll lead me astray or something.”

No, but . . .

“Anyways,” Savvy said, sliding off the counter and bopping his nose. “I’m off to meet him now. I’ll be home right after, okay?”

But . . .

Weren’t they too young? Shouldn’t this be something experienced in the distant future? Not . . . not now, sprung on him ten seconds before they waltzed out to meet some random from choir—

“It’s okay, Jonathan. Close up and do something nice for yourself.” He stared after Savvy, and Savvy waved at him from the door, and then they were gone.

Jonathan closed his eyes. How could he champion love and romance and yet feel . . . this?

He released a slow breath. Savvy was sensible and smart. This was just . . . brotherly worry. Just worry. Close up and do something nice for yourself . . .

Well, the closing up part to start. Absently, Jonathan scanned a dozen more books, rang the little bell and called into the library that it was closing time, and watched the last stragglers leave. But as he checked the aisles, he glimpsed a beanbag shifting in one of the reading nooks. “Sorry, closing time I’m afraid.”

He rounded a shelf toward the nook, and halted. The agile, leather-wrapped wrist holding up Plato’s Symposium was achingly familiar.

Surprise hit him with a shiver, quick and violent, that lingered in the balls of his frozen feet.

Jonathan supressed the feeling and strode forwards. His toes bumped against crossed soles, and he cleared his throat.

Inch by inch, the book drew down to reveal O’Hara’s amused expression. “Well, well, well.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I think you want to ask how long I’ve been here.”

Jonathan crossed his arms.