The Geographer's Library

Jon Fasman
From the double doors, I heard laughter, a man’s and Hannah’s, and
inside I saw Hannah and an irritatingly handsome, slab-faced guy, the type
who wouldn’t look out of place modeling cable-knit sweaters or running for
public office. He looked at me with condescension (easily mistakable in this
case for friendliness, except to the knowledgeable and paranoid), then lazily
back to Hannah.
“Paul, what are you doing here?” she asked. Her voice had walls
around it.
“I was passing by on my way to work and just wanted to talk to you for a
second.”
She smiled, first at me and then knowingly at the white teeth sitting next
to her. “I’m sorry,” she said unapologetically. “Paul, this is Chip Gregson, one
of our science teachers. Chip, this is my friend Paul. Chip and I were in the
middle of a planning discussion.” Chip raised his eyebrows and nodded but
neither stood up nor extended a hand to me.
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to interrupt you and Chip over here, but if
you’ve just got a second for me . . .”
“Fine,” she sighed. “Chip, I’ll come find you after eighth period. You’ll be
around?” she asked, smiling.
“Yeah, I will. If I’m not here, I’ll be running some drills on first field with
the JV defense. Come find me; we’ll hang out.” I wondered how easily he
could break his leg “running some drills.” Chip drained his cup of tea and
strode athletically toward me, slapping me on the back as he passed. “Good
to meet ya, buddy,” he said.
“Yeah, you, too.” He left, and I sat down next to Hannah. “Chip has beautiful
shoulders,” I said.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at me. Maybe it was the wrong
moment for sarcasm. I reached for her face, and she let me raise her chin until
she was looking at me. “I don’t understand any of this,” I said quietly. “Can
you please let me in? Tell me what I’ve done wrong, or what’s happening
inside your head? Or even outside it?”
She didn’t say anything.
“Are you still upset about Jaan?”
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