8
Mel
I’m reconciling a spreadsheet in my little study carrel at the library, sipping on a mocha, even though beverages are strictly forbidden. Am I breaking the rules? Yes. But I have a valid reason. Well, valid to me, anyway. Drip is not a good place for me to study. Don’t get me wrong—I love the people and the vibe and especially the drinks. But when I’m there, I always have one eye on the counter, or I’m half listening to what’s going on and my mind is thinking about all that needs to be done. Basically, I can’t concentrate there. And since this assignment is due tomorrow, I need to focus. But I also need caffeine, hence the illicit beverage.
“I can see your cup. You know that, right?”
I hear a voice behind me and smile. “You’re not gonna rat me out, are you?” I ask, turning to see one of my very favorite people on this campus: Josie Reynolds. We met freshman year when we lived on the same floor. Josie and I have almost nothing in common—she’s an introvert and I’m an extrovert. She’s a bookworm, and I’m a number cruncher. I love a party, and she loves being left alone. But I had an awful roommate in the first semester, and her roommate was even worse than mine, so we spent a lot of time in the commons together. I helped her come out of her shell a little, and she helped me make sense of Brit Lit. We formed a bond that first year, and we’ve been friends ever since. And while I don’t see her as often as I used to see Ian, or even Phoebe, she’s still one of my favorite people to talk to—the kind of friend you can run into months after you last spoke and pick up right where you left off.
“I don’t know, Mel, you’re flirting with danger, bringing a hot, chocolatey drink near all these books. But I’ll let it go…this time,” she teases, parking her book cart near the wall and taking the seat next to mine.
“Would it help if I offered you a cookie? I’ve got oatmeal raisin,” I say, digging the paper package out of my bag.
“You know my weakness is oatmeal raisin,” she says, reaching for the cookie.
“I do, and that’s weird. You’re twenty-one, Jos, not ninety.”
She laughs. “Age has nothing to do with it. Oatmeal raisin cookies are superior to all others. End of story.”
“You’re delusional,” I tease, taking a bite of the chocolate chip cookie I also brought along.
“If they’re so offensive,” she asks, “then why did you bring one? Were you just hoping to catch me in my natural habitat?”
“I am always hoping to run into you,” I tell her. “But also, these are the day-old cookies I can nab for free, so you get what you get, you know? Besides, is this your natural habitat now? I mean, I know you love the library, but I thought you were still working at the tutoring center?”
“I am still tutoring,” she tells me, “but I’m working here at the library too, as part of my practicum. I decided to stick around Bainbridge for another year to get my Masters of Science in Information Science. So, at the end of next year, I’ll be an actual librarian. Don’t tell me dreams don’t come true,” she quips.
“Seriously?” I say, smiling. “That’s absolutely perfect for you, Jos.”
“I know, right? This is like my favorite place on campus, and they say you should pick a job that lets you do what you love, right? Well, there are few things I love more than books and organization, so…yeah, no one should be surprised at my career choice. What about you? Still graduating early to take the accounting world by storm?”
“That’s the plan,” I say, since it really has been the plan since we met. I’ve always been good with numbers, so becoming an accountant was an easy choice. “It’s crazy to think this is my last semester.”
“It is crazy,” she agrees. “You taking anything fun right now? Going out with a bang?”
I laugh at the idea of accounting classes—or any college classes, for that matter—being fun. “Are you?”
“I am treating myself to a Victorian lit class. And a young adult lit class.”
“The weird part is, I know you actually think you’re treating yourself,” I say, eating the last of my cookie.
“I am! Those are two of my favorite genres. Aren’t you taking anything fun…like, um… forensic accounting? Is that fun?”
I shrug. “Nothing in my major is fun. At least, not for me. But I don’t hate it. And I’m good at it, so that’s gotta count for something, right?”
“I guess,” she says. “But you should take something just for pleasure this semester—like painting or something.”
“No time,” I answer, shaking my head. “My schedule’s full at Drip, and even though I only have twelve credits, one of my courses is my accounting practicum, so I’ll be traveling a bit for that.”
“What the heck is an accounting practicum?”
“It’s a series of internships. I’ll shadow people and do intern-type stuff in a couple different offices, just to get a feel for the direction I want to go. The thing is, I already know I want to work in corporate accounting. But it’s a required class, so I’ll jump through the hoops. I’ll do a few weeks at a law office, which is great practice for what I really want to do, and thenI’ll shadow a bookkeeper at the Bainbridge County Community Center, which I’m not as excited about.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Josie says, resuming her task of reshelving books.
“It’s not my dream job, but it can’t be too awful, right?”
“If nothing else, you can hang at the senior center and play Bingo with the old ladies.”
