by Laura Briggs
"Go her," said Stacy. "But I don't think it'll be easy to find someone for Sophy. She's too intimidating. You know how boys are. And Sophy's pretty different...and pretty determined."
"I have an idea, though," I said. "Something I want to try out."
Marina was behind the desk, reading a copy of Little Bear as we entered. "All's still quiet on the western front," she announced. "Welcome back, ladies."
"So what's this idea?" said Stacy.
"Watch." I stationed myself at the circulation computer, and typed in Sophy's name. When her account appeared, I entered a cross reference search — one for all the patrons who had checked out those same books. A list of names appeared on the screen every time I clicked one of the book titles from Sophy's reading history.
"Pretty cool, huh?" I said. "Let's pretend it's like a dating profile — all these names are people who share Sophy's interests...sort of."
"What are we doing?" asked Marina.
"We're looking for the love of Sophy's life in the checkout log," said Stacy. We clicked through fifty-something titles, whose mutual readers were mostly disqualified for varying reasons. But there was one name I couldn't help noticing again and again.
"C.J. Masters," I said. "That's the thirty-sixth time."
"What are the odds?" said Stacy. She sounded astonished.
"When you think about it," I said, after pausing, "maybe not so weird. They both love books, obviously — classics, fantasy novels. They're all about epic adventures — sweeping dramas, or magical realms."
"Only Sophy loves the romance and chivalry —" said Stacy.
" — and C.J. loves the fear factor and the fire-breathing dragons," I finished. "He's the yin to Sophy's yang."
"Yeah, but there's the problem," said Stacy. "They're complete opposites in every way. Sophy knows what she wants, and she wants a guy with confidence — somebody who's as self-assured as she is. And C.J. doesn't have any idea what he wants."
"He knows what he thinks he wants," said Marina.
"That's a good point," said Stacy. "Llourdes."
"He doesn't have a chance with her," I said.
"True. But he doesn't know it, yet. He's totally blind when it comes to her. And so long as he chases glam girls like her, he's never going to see a girl like Sophy," said Stacy. "They're nothing alike. Sophy's not a tiny little waif, and she's never worn a midriff-baring crop top. She's offbeat, opinionated, edgy — and Llourdes only has an opinion about her latest nail color."
"Someone sounds just a teeny bit harsh towards this Llourdes person," said Marina, as she added Little Bear to the stack of books to shelve.
"Sorry. It's just that girls like Llourdes give the rest of us blondes a bad name," said Stacy. "I'm sensitive about it, so help me. Maybe because I wonder if guys don't ask me out because they think I'm a dumb blonde...or, worse yet, that some guy asked me out because he does think it."
"Guys are intimidated because you're beautiful," I said. "And any guy who thinks that stupidity is attractive ... well, he doesn't deserve you, does he?"
No guy in Port Lawrence seemed interested in Stacy thus far, and I didn't think it was because of her I.Q. It was because girls like Llourdes seemed to have an irresistible, magnetic power the rest of us don't. Like I said, it's a chemical for which my science knowledge doesn't have a name, but it made reasonably intelligent boys like C.J. melt into puddles of desperation whenever she was around.
"C.J. is creative," I pointed out. "Just like Sophy. Sure, it's with graphics and video instead of paints, but still...."
"Creativity is creativity," said Marina.
"And Llourdes hasn't done anything artistic since kindergarten, probably," said Stacy. "But you will never in a million years make C.J. see that he's interested in the wrong girl. He's completely gone. She's the princess in his epic fan fiction, probably, and he'll hang onto that dream until she marries some former college quarterback."
"You really are bitter about the blonde thing, aren't you?" I said.
"Sorry. Just a reflex. You're not blonde enough to understand, trust me."
"Apparently not," I said. "Anyway, maybe the answer is to get C.J. to realize that there's more to a princess than just her outer shell."
"That," said Marina, "is where you will cross the line if you're not careful, Paige." She gave me a look. "Trying to steer people romantically isn't as easy as steering a 1972 DeSoto."
"I won't be meddling in their lives," I said. "Scout's honor."
***
Okay. So maybe Marina had a point. At Friday's meeting, I found myself watching the group, with disappointing results. As always C.J. had taken any available seat close to Llourdes — and Sophy was sitting on the opposite side of the room.
There was a lot of difference between the girl who fit C.J.'s life on paper, and the girl who fit his personal desires. Llourdes was cool, fit, looked effortlessly magazine-casual glam. Whereas Sophy was ... Sophy. Her somewhat frizzy dark hair was braided and pinned back to tame it, and the body beneath her black 'princesses are forever' t-shirt, pink skirt, and footless striped tights was more rounded than Abercrombie & Fitch skinny. But she had sparkle and passion in her eyes, whereas Llourdes's sky blue ones tended to look blank and dull when listening to other people talk, part of her I'm-so-bored-with-the-world attitude.
Maybe Llourdes was hiding a deep mystery inside herself by this shell. Or maybe she just cared less about debating Jane Eyre than following Bruno Mars's tweets.
"I think it's important that Jane's not just practical," Annette was saying. "She's still a romantic at heart, even after things between her and Rochester seem to be over. The proof that Jane's not just practical is when she won't marry St. John."
"So what does that mean — a practical romantic?" asked Sophy. "Is it just somebody who faces that love has limitations — like, price tags or something?"
"What do you think, Llourdes?" I asked. I couldn't help but see she was glued to her phone, obviously texting someone this whole time.
"Oh. Um ... I think Jane's totally nuts to run off," she said. "Who, like, goes hiking across some field without taking some money or some extra clothes?"
Sophy snorted. "Maybe somebody who doesn't want to be beholden to their lying boss?" she said. "It's totally about submission versus free will."
"I still think it's a dumb choice." Llourdes looked up for a second — right into C.J.'s eyes, as it happened, causing him to turn several shades of red and white.
"Yeah," he said. "I guess it could be."
I saw a little flicker of disgust in Sophy's eyes before she turned to the next bookmark in her leather-bound copy of the novel. But Llourdes just glanced around the room with her usual tiny smile that showed off her dimple, then went back to her phone.
Clearly, the first step was for C.J. to see the truth about his current state of amore. He would need a firmer push than either Tim or Annette to see its hopelessness, however. And that moment came on Saturday morning, when he approached the circulation desk while I was scanning a mountain of Eloise books for one of the summer reading program's smallest participants.
"Morning, Paige," he said, laying three books on the reception desk, then pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he smiled at me. "Um, is that video game I requested in yet?"
"Not yet," I said. "It's a pretty old game, so it may take some time to find a media center who has it — and one that's willing to loan it, too." I opened the cover of the first book.
Usually when C.J. checked out books from the arts section, they were for his graphics work — looking for dragons to animate for video games, or landscapes for computer-generated videos. But this selection was not C.J.'s usual taste — it was a book on romantic origami. The two below were books on making valentines and on romantic gift ideas.
"These are nice," I commented.
"Yeah. Aren't they?" He fidgeted with his glasses again. "I, um, have something kind of special in mind for them."
"Someone special, I'm gue
ssing." I scanned the second title's catalog bar.
"Yeah," he admitted, with a blush. "She's pretty special. Really awesome, actually."
The moment of truth had come. Something inside me snapped — the part of me that keeps human opinions where they belong, which is on a leash.
I shut the cover of the third book. "You trust me — right, C.J.?" I said.
He looked puzzled. "Sure?"
"We're friends — the kind who can give each other some help or advice, not just talk about Bronte's literature on Fridays, I mean," I clarified.
"Yeah, Paige," he said. He was giving me an odd look. "I guess so. Why?"
"Then let me give you a piece of very frank advice," I said. "These books are for Llourdes, aren't they? I'm guessing that she's the girl you like."
"Ummm, yeah," he said, slowly. "How'd you know?"
I ignored this question. "Be honest, C.J. Do you really think you're going to win her over with a folded origami heart, or a punch-cut valentine?"
"Ummm..."
"You heard her complain about the Vera Wang clutch her last boyfriend had given her as being 'so last year,' right? And if she's not the kind of girl who can appreciate what you're thinking about doing, are you sure you want to go through with this?"
"I thought maybe it's the kind of romantic gesture those hulks on the football team never tried," he mumbled. "I mean, I can't compete with the expensive stuff. But different is good, right?" He looked so hopeful with this comment that I felt horrible when I thought about Llourdes' probable reaction to him.
"But are you really sure that's she's the girl you want to impress?" I said.
"She's awesome," he said, perking back up immediately at this challenge. "She's gorgeous...she's the most incredible girl I've ever seen."
"'Seen' is the key word in this, C.J.," I said. I shoved the books across the counter to him. "Just take my advice and give it some thought before you reach for the scissors. Just to be sure."
"Thanks." That was not a sincere thanks, I could tell. And it wasn't just the weird look he was giving me as he collected his books, either — although that one had the effect of telling me I'd probably just made a big mistake.
There was no nice way to tell him that it wasn't going to work, short of saying 'Llourdes thinks you're a dork and will probably laugh at your card afterwards with all her friends.' Those were the kind of words that would crush him, and maybe even his best friend wouldn't have the heart to say them, much less me. But it wasn't my job to say them, since I was only a distant friend — and I didn't need psychic powers to know that my warning had a less than convincing effect on C.J.'s crush.
"You did what?" said Stacy. A few of Cam's customers at the nearest table turned to look at her, so she hastily lowered her voice a little. "He probably thought you were acting weird."
"It did seem kind of poorly-timed in retrospect," I admitted, uneasily. "Maybe a little blunt."
"How about 'nosy'?"
"That, too." I sighed. "But I was looking at a pile of romantic crafts books, Stacy — all meant for a girl who barely knows he exists in her world. I just ... couldn't take it all of a sudden. Him designing some awesome valentine for somebody who would just see it as a piece of paper full of holes."
"Marina's right about this," said Stacy. "You're getting way too involved. C.J. isn't the first loveblind guy to send a love note to a girl out of his league. You should let him learn the hard way, Peg."
"I'm pretty sure he's sending it anyway," I said. "He didn't believe me. He thinks that chivalry will sweep Llourdes off her feet." I stirred cream into my coffee, as I tried to tell myself I was only being C.J.'s friend by telling him the truth.
"I told you — Sophy's the kind of girl he simply can't see," said Stacy. "Just like Llourdes will never see him...not that he'll figure it out before he humiliates himself." She let out a sigh herself. "It's no fun being at the bottom of the romantic pile, is it?"
"At least we're in good company," I said. "Who wouldn't want to be us? C.J. is a graphics genius who can make an Arthurian legend dragon come to life. Sophy is an awesome sketch artist and poet. Marina's a great storyteller with a full life of experiences...and we'll always have Cam with his amazing snacks and coffee." This last part I added for his benefit, as he laid two sandwiches on the table in front of us.
"What?" he said, glancing from me to Stacy. "Did I miss something?"
"Nothing." I shook my head with a smile. Just then, Caroline sat down in the chair beside mine.
"Happy Saturday, everybody," she said. "We've been shopping all morning, and I found the cutest dress for the charity ball that you simply have to see, Stacy."
The 'we' consisted of Caroline and a stunning girl whom I'd never met before. Smooth brown hair tumbled past her shoulders, her flawless features lightly accented by makeup.
"Oh. Cam. This is my friend Summer," said Caroline. "She's new to the city, and I've been introducing her to all my friends."
"You think of me as a friend? That's new," said Cam.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Summer, whose smile could probably literally light up rooms — her teeth were dazzling me from across the table. She held out her hand to Cam. "I should warn you, I really know coffee, so you'd better impress me — I used to run a coffee warehouse for Six A.M."
"No kidding," said Cam. "That was our top flavor before we started using more African beans than island brews."
"Brew me a little of your best — black, with a little creamer to the side," said Summer. Cam looked impressed.
"Hey, Summer," said Caroline, "weren't you looking for somebody to go with you to that new east side coffee shop? I'd go, but you know I've already got a dinner date with Greg on Sunday night."
"I was, yes," said Summer. She looked at Cam again. "If you're interested, it's a pre-opening mixer, and this place has a really promising menu and atmosphere. Casual, a couple of local bands performing unplugged ... you'd be welcome to come with me, and scout them in advance."
"I might be," said Cam. "Thanks." Cam, who never, ever went on dates. Who hadn't spent an evening alone — in public — with another person since the unspoken rift between himself and the now-infamous Ginny. I thought my jaw might drop open, except my self-possession defied gravity at this moment.
"I need a little more creamer," I said. I rose from the table and snagged a few packets from the station Mallory was restocking. I felt a tap on my shoulder and found Caroline there.
"It's going perfectly, isn't it?" she said, excitedly. "She's perfect for him, isn't she?"
"She's perfect. Definitely," I answered. I didn't think I had ever seen a person who looked more ... well ... perfect. "She seems really amazing."
"Isn't she?" Caroline was practically dancing. "See? Everyone said Cam was still too broken up for a relationship, but I finally cracked that Scrooge-y, humbug exterior....with a little summer sunshine."
"Yeah, I guess you have," I said. It seemed way too warm in the cafe — Cam's A/C must be broken. "That's ... really, really great."
"Look at the two of them — isn't it adorable?"
Cam and Summer were still talking; she was laughing at something Cam was saying, so she hadn't mistaken his dark humor for mean sarcasm. "What does she do in the city?" I asked. I wanted to know — at the same time, I found myself wishing we were talking about something else just at this moment.
"She's trying to break into acting," said Caroline. "She's a new member of a local theater company, but she works at the insurance office next to my real estate firm."
"Coffee and theater," I said. Didn't Cam always attend the high school plays? Maybe he had been harboring a secret love of theater all these years. Maybe it was a side of his character I had never known about, among many others.
"Where are you going?" she said. "You haven't finished your sandwich."
"I'm late," I said. "I have to take Marina's place behind the desk. I'm the librarian, you know."
"But even librarians eat lunch!" C
aroline called after me. I waved a quick goodbye to her and Stacy through the glass and walked on.
***
"Are there real gnomes?" Lucy asked.
I scanned the barcode on Mr. Gnome Travels Alone, and closed its cover. "That depends," I said. "Little girls your age in Scandinavia think so...and they leave bowls of milk out for them at Christmastime to say 'thank you' for bringing the families good luck."
"But do gnomes wear Hawaiian shirts and fly on planes?" she asked. "Doesn't that seem weird?"
"Maybe," I admitted. Although Mr. Gnome looked pretty cheerful, stowing away with the plane's luggage — which included, for some unexplained reason, an artificial Christmas tree and a canoe.
I felt gloomy all Monday morning. Not just because Marty told me that Tim was now digging deep into Beetie's engine, trying to find her mystery ailment. It was Monday blues, and I was feeling a little depressed as I shelved paperback romances in the main hall, where I found one of our more mischievous summer reading participants had hidden several Lego pirates.
"Hey, Peg." Sophy descended from the library's second story with an armload of books. "Can you check these out for me really fast?" She had been exploring the out-of-print and rare materials room devoted to arts and humanities, which housed everything from old paper clothing patterns to blueprints for the town's buildings.
"Of course," I said, shoving one last Betty Neels book into place. "You're not skipping ahead to Villette without the rest of us, are you?" I joked. One of the book covers revealed a woman in period dress, posed very dramatically.
"I'm taking a break from classics," said Sophy. "These are for my costume for the Renaissance Fair." She laid several costuming books on the counter, depicting knights in armor and ladies in Medieval gowns.
"I didn't know you could sew," I said.
"Yup. I love making costumes," she said. "A friend and I LARP sometimes during the semester —"
"Role playing?" I said.
"I'm Lady Valawyn, First Knight of the Queen's Secret Order," said Sophy. "I even made my own sword, shield, and armor. Well, it's mostly made out of aluminum."
