Page 27 of All That Glitters

Before high school, Marigold was the perfect student. She submitted everything not just on time, but early. The school put her in “gifted” classes. For a time, it separated us, because I wasn’t as accomplished. Then, freshman year, the pressure started to get to her. She was moved up to accommodate her abilities, but in reality it only hurt her. I tried to get her to switch to different classes, but she refused.

She pushed herself to her limits and then some. It never failed to amaze me when she’d finish a paper in a quarter of the time it took me, managing to get at least a B every time. The cost was an exorbitant amount of stress, but she was always willing to pay it. Especially when it came time for the honor roll to be announced. The only time her parents acknowledged her.

I half-heartedly work on an assignment while Marigold types furiously at her laptop. Her gaze flicks back and forth between the anthology and her screen. Occasionally, she huffs or sighs. I glance at the time. The library café is supposed to close at nine, and it’s nearly that time. Maybe I can get something before they do. I slip away from the table without so much as a glance from Marigold.

Thankfully, I manage to get to the café, though the barista doesn’t seem too happy about my last-minute appearance. I order a peppermint hot chocolate for Marigold and an herbal tea blend for myself. The pastries in the case look more sad than appetizing, but I get a butter croissant anyways.

When I get back to the table I’ve been sharing with Marigold, she looks up. Her hazel eyes light as she sees the cups in my hand.

“You brought me coffee?” There’s an awe in her voice too genuine to be forced.

I shake my head with a small smile.

“No, I got you peppermint hot chocolate. Though I regret it now, since that’s the nicest you’ve sounded in months.”

She scrunches her nose but takes the cup from me.

“That’s a hyperbole if I’ve ever heard one,” she says before taking a sip.

“Then you must not have heard one.”

I sit across from her, setting the croissant bag on the table. After a long practice and extra time on the ice, my muscles protest being confined to a wooden chair. Hopefully soon Marigold will either finish her assignments or get too tired to keep going.

“You’re ridiculous,” she huffs, and reaches for the bag containing the croissant. The movement is natural, as it should be after years of sharing with each other. She doesn’t seem to think twice before ripping the pastry in half and depositing the rest in the middle. I can’t help but smile at the sight.

Marigold pauses when her gaze catches on my face.

“What?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

She frowns but turns her attention back to her work. Her typing is broken up with nibbles of the croissant or sips of her hot chocolate. I rip off a piece of the bread, leaving most of it for her. After a few bites and some tea, my eyes start to feel heavy. I sink down in my seat and stare at the barely touched assignment on my screen. The words start to blur and fade. Exhaustion from the day sets in, helped along by the warmth of the library and the sound of Marigold’s typing. My eyes fall shut.

Chapter fourteen

Aftermath

Marigold Belmore

I sigh as I type the final sentence for my analysis paper. Done. Now, I can rest. My bleary eyes drift to the to-do list tab. Almost all of the tasks are glaring red, telling me I’m behind. Saylor set up the system for me at the beginning of the semester. She said it helps her to see everything at a glance. I’m not sure how being reminded of my mounting failure is helpful, but I guess Saylor is never behind like me.

I rub my face. It feels like my eyelids are made of sandpaper. There’s a headache radiating from in between my eyebrows. And I’m so tired that curling up on the crusty carpet of the library sounds enticing. I blink my dry eyes open and startle when I realize Jameson is still across from me. I’d been so focused on my paper that I’d forgotten he was there.

My brow furrows. Is he sleeping? His arms are crossed over his broad chest, making his biceps bulge. He’s slumped down in the chair with his head tipped back, exposing the strong line of his jaw and neck. The rise and fall of his chest is the kind of steady rhythm that only comes with sleep. I bite my lip. This confirms my suspicions about him not sleeping well. He’s never been prone to sleeping in public. Even on bus rides to games, he’d text me instead of sleeping because he didn’t like the idea of not being aware of his surroundings.

I check the time and my eyes widen. The librarian is going to be making her rounds soon. She has not been my biggest fan as of late.

“Jameson,” I say, though I know doing so is pointless. He’s a deep sleeper. One time I stayed the night at his house—in the living room—and I woke up to his alarm. His room was upstairs. And it still took a few blaring rings before he woke up and cut it off.

I bite my thumb nail, watching him sleep peacefully. If the librarian comes over and sees this mess and Jameson asleep, she might kick us out for good. I’m not sure if she could actually do that, but she seems shrewd enough to try.

“Ugh,” I huff, and stand up, then walk over to Jameson’s side. I grab his shoulder and squeeze it. My mouth drops open at how firm it is. “Are you even human?” I mutter. Jameson’s face scrunches up as if he’s waking up.

Hopefully he didn’t hear that.

“Jameson,” I say, and squeeze his freakishly muscular shoulder again. “You need to wake up, before the librarian comes and strangles us with her glasses chain.”

His eyes open, but he doesn’t startle. He just smiles up at me. A sleepy smile that tugs on all my heartstrings and makes it dance like a pathetic marionette. I get the strangest urge to brush back his messy black hair from his forehead.