The Library Agreement

10

"So," comes Mr. Sanchez's flat, tired voice. "'Would anyone like to share today?"

The usual awkward hesitation sweeps throughout the classroom. People glance at one another, some roll their eyes, other laugh under their breath.

My heart is pounding in my chest like a drum.

Hailey's text message still remains unopened on my lock screen.

We can do this.

Okay. We can do this.

The English teacher releases a heavy sigh. "Well, if no one wants—"

"Wait," I call out, my voice constricted. "I'll share, Mr. Sanchez."

He stares at me, his jaw nearly unhinged. Something that looks like mingled hope and relief floods his gaze.

"Ch-Charlie?" He stammers. "Uh, yeah! Go right ahead."

I offer up a sheepish smile, despite the murmur that is beginning to erupt all around me. I can practically feel everyone's eyes on me.

Come on, Charlie. I reprimand myself. Just share something. Anything.

I clear my throat, glancing over my shoulder to meet Hailey's gaze. She nods and shoots me a thumbs-up. At which point I shake out my hands and release a tremulous breath.

"Okay," I say, clapping my hands together in front of me as I decide to stand up. "So."

A collective laugh. I haven't even started. Oh, God, is it because I'm being so awkward? I'm not supposed to be awkward here. Not at school. That's a thing for the library kid. Not the football star.

I like that kid, Charlie. I really like that kid.

That's what Hailey had told me, just the other day. That's what she had said.

I owe it to her to at least show a glimpse of that kid.

"A few nights ago, someone came to me. They were in trouble. They—uh, they needed my help. So I helped them. I helped them when they were afraid. Do any of you know what that feels like?"

My gaze roves around the room. A few kids nod, others don't even make eye contact. In my peripheral vision, I see Mr. Sanchez, wide-eyed, as if he's hanging onto my every word.

"I'll tell you what that feels like. It feels like the best thing in the world. It feels like you've finally found a reason to exist."

And suddenly everyone's faces fade out, I hear nothing but the sound of my heartbeat; I am no longer standing in the classroom. It's just me, standing there, speaking. Talking. Like it's the easiest thing in the entire world.

"Helping people doesn't necessarily mean fighting for them. It means being with them, especially when they're scared. And I know that every single person in this classroom has seen someone scared. Terrified, even. It's hard to cope with. You're never quite sure whether you'll make things better or worse. You're never sure what to do.

"And I'm not an expert here. I'm not a guidance counselor, or a teacher, or someone who is used to seeing people vulnerable. But that's the thing about vulnerability—it shows a side of people that you never knew existed. Just like I'm showing you now. I'm being vulnerable.

"So the next time someone comes to you—the next time someone shows their fear—I suggest you let them know it's okay. Don't laugh. Don't ignore them. Because it takes a whole lot of courage to do what they're doing. It takes everything you've got to let someone see you as you are. Not as you want to be."

I can't stop; the words are just flowing out of me. I'm not even having to think anymore, they're just there, penetrating the air, resounding throughout the otherwise silent room. I can't even focus on Mr. Sanchez anymore. It's like I've reached an entirely new level of speaking, all on my own.

"Stereotypes are the things that break us. Stereotypes are the things that stop us from being the people that we should be. Stereotypes bring their own kind of fear. They bring the fear of being who you are expected to be, rather than who you really are.

"Everyone in here has a stereotype. Whether it's being popular, or an athlete, an airhead, a geek—anything. Everyone has their own stereotype that they just can't escape from. We all know it. You're probably thinking of yours right now.

"Don't let that stereotype take control of who you are. Don't let it suffocate your personality, your hopes and dreams, everything that makes you unique. All of that makes you your own person. Because there are thousands of stereotypes. There are thousands of people that fall under the same category.

"Don't be just another category. Don't be afraid of being judged. Because the judgement is just a result of other people being afraid to break free. Don't be afraid."

I suck in a deep breath, closing my eyes, just for a second.

"When other people are afraid—when other people come to you—consider that an oppritunity. Take their fear as courage. Because that's what it is. Fear is courage."

I release a shaky breath as the world comes back into view. I see the stunned expressions of my classmates, Mr. Sanchez's jaw hanging wide open. Nodding once, maybe for reassurance, maybe as a signal that I've finished—I sit back down.

No one claps. No one whistles. Everyone is just staring.

I lower my eyes to my phone, unlocking it swiftly and typing a quick message to Hailey.

Your move, doll.

Locking up the phone once more, I rest it on my knee, looking up at Mr. Sanchez, who still hasn't closed his mouth.

"Wow." He breathes. "Holy crap—wow, Charlie. Thank you. Thanks for sharing."

I give a curt nod, chewing my lip somewhat nervously. My gut unravels; I wipe my sweaty palms against my jeans.

"Well, then. Wow." Our teacher repeats, looking somewhat awestruck. "Um, anyone else?"

"Yeah." Comes a small, broken voice from the back. I swivel in my chair, my heart leaping into my throat.

There she is. Slowly rising from her seat. Her eyes are slightly reddened and wet, but her cheeks are completely dry, so I assume she hadn't actually cried.

But she came close.

And somehow, knowing that gives me a little twinge of satisfaction.

I did it. I actually did it.

Even if it was just for a moment, I had become the kid in the library.

________

I'm right there with Mr. Sanchez.

Wow.

He did exactly what I'd asked him to do—no, scratch that, he did more than that. I had just expected him to share his favorite color, or maybe the fact that he likes to read. But no. Charlie Portman just said those things, in front of the entire class. Not even I have heard him speak like that.

Wow. That actually made me tear up.

And now I'm standing here, surrounded by all these people. All these people who just heard that incredible speech are about to hear me talk.

This is going to go horribly.

I already see the girls sitting a few rows ahead of me laughing. Everyone has seemingly snapped out of their stupor once they realize that I am the one standing. I want more than anything to just sit back down and duck my head; to pretend that I never said anything.

But he followed through. So that means I have to.

Expectant gazes lock onto me. Someone clears their throat awkwardly. Murmurs and giggles sweep throughout the room. Mr. Sanchez is still staring at Charlie; paying no attention to me.

It's now or never.

"For those of you who don't know, my name's Hailey. Hailey Richards."

Charlie has turned in his seat to look at me; a smile teases at the corners of his lips. He raises his eyebrows, maintaining eye contact, and I hear the message loud and clear.

Keep going.

"Um," I stammer out impressively. "Well, I know it's probably going to be hard to top that."

I extend a hand to where Charlie's sitting, and a few people laugh.

Okay. That's a start.

"But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try."

I take in a deep breath. Release it. Okay. Here goes.

"I don't have as much insight to share with you all. But I can tell you that everything he just said—it's true. Every last word of it."

I suck in my cheek, trying to regulate my breathing. Charlie is smiling now—actually smiling, not just quirking his lips up.

"I don't think anyone should try to hide who they are. And—and I know it might be tempting sometimes. I mean, it's scaring me to death even standing up here and talking. But I'm doing it. I'm actually doing it."

The last few words come out a little breathy, and I clear my throat before continuing.

"High school is one of those places that just kind of sucks. No matter what you do to improve it, it always has sucked. You can be the most popular kid in the entirety of Reidville—that doesn't change the inevitable. It doesn't change that these few four years are somehow the best and worst years ever, all at the same time."

I wish I was more like Charlie. He can just start talking and never have to pause to think. Me? I'm sitting here with sweat pooling in my palms, my mind whirring and somehow forcing the words out of my mouth. My words are unnatural and staggered—they don't sound like they're coming from me.

Nevertheless, I keep going—if only for the look on Charlie's face, I keep going.

"So, if it's a well-known fact that high school sucks, then why should we try to make it suck any more than it has to? Why do we have to get so caught up in the popularity and the drama? Why do we have to gossip and spread rumors? What's the point?"

At this, something inside me unclenches. I don't know exactly how to explain it, but it feels as if someone has had their hands wrapped around my throat—strangling me—and they just let go.

I can breathe again. I am steady. And the words simply come.

"Are you all afraid? Is that it? Is that why you push people into submission? Do you consider people—people like me—inferior? Because, if you think about it, what you're doing is evil. It's terrible."

Shocked expressions register on the faces surrounding me now. But I can't stop. Now that I've started, I just can't stop.

"Suicide rates in schools are skyrocketing. Because of mindless comments. Because of people simply trying to build themselves up by tearing others down. Have you ever thought about that? Families, mourning their child, just because some idiots couldn't restrain from making a stupid remark?

"Well, it happens. It happens every single day. And I don't know if you realize this—if anyone realizes it, really. But that—that, ladies and gentlemen—is fear. It's never knowing. Never knowing which comment will be the one to break you.

"So when someone comes to you and they're afraid, I suggest you tell them why they shouldn't be. Tell them that life is worth living. Tell them all the things that they will miss out on—all the things that they won't get the chance to experience—if they end it all here. Because I know what it feels like to want to give up. I know what it feels like to wonder if life is even worth living anymore.

"Don't let high school be the cause of another lost life. Don't let this year be the cause of another funeral. Instead, be the people you were made to be. Be the people that others want to come to. Be the people that save lives. Because we need more people like that in this world. We need more people like that."

I remain standing for a few beats of silence, and the realization sinks in. I just stood up and said that. I just stood up and—and spoke like that, in front of all these people.

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

I lower myself down into the chair, clearing my throat again, glancing up at Mr. Sanchez and the rest of the class. Our teacher looks as though his eyeballs are about to pop out of his head. The rest of the class is gaping.

For the first time in my life, I have made people speechless.

I swallow hard, offering up a small, tight-lipped smile, and that seems to snap Mr. Sanchez back into reality.

"Okay, then. Wow. It's been—" he clears his throat. "It's been a really interesting period. Thank you, Charlie and—Hailey, was it?"

I nod.

"Good. Uh, thanks to you both."

There's a long pause, and he just looks at us as if he can't quite believe it. Then,

"Alrighty, then. Let's get started."

Mr. Sanchez turns to the board and starts to write, and eventually, everyone else turns their attention back to class as well.

I shake my head, smiling to myself. I just did that. I actually did that.

My smile grows as my phone screen lights up, and a new message from Charlie comes through.

That's my girl.