Friday night, and she was working at the library. And coincidentally, it just happened to be open until midnight tonight. Oh, and because that wasn't bad enough, it was right after midterms so naturally, no one was there. There were a few students who hadn't taken one or two tests, but this was the school library strategically placed away from other buildings, trying to encourage silence and separation of the rich from the poorer.

She looked up at the abrupt slam of a book on the check out desk of which she was working. She lowered her glasses and narrowed her eyes.

"What?" she asked, her narrowed eyes turning into a glare at the sight of a boy, her age, in prep clothes – a polo, sweater, khaki pants – blonde hair styled perfectly within an inch of its life.

"I need a book."

"Go to your own library, prep." She said, looking back at the books on the counter that she was preparing to return to the shelves.

"My library doesn't have it."

"Well, do you know what it's called? Maybe that's why they don't have it; you don't even know what the title is."

He rolled his eyes, "The Comparative Works of Friedrich Nietzsche."

"Like I said, go to your own library."

"Look," he said, growing impatient, "I don't have time for this. I have an exam tomorrow that I need this book for, and it's ten o'clock on a Friday night when I still have a lot of things to do, people to see."

"Girls to screw," she interjected, catching him by surprise. Her attitude changed quickly, giving him a sweet smile before looking back down at the book in her hands.

"Look," she said, her words used in mocking, "We have far less books than you do in your preppy library, so why don't you go there? And keep your voice down; this is a library for God's sake."

He smirked, "How do you know I'm a prep kid?"

Her cerulean eyes narrowed into slits, giving him the once over. "You look rich and like your father had to buy your way into Yale, so that means you have little brains."

"And you're smart?"

"Well, I wouldn't go out to coffee with you if you asked, so yes, that makes me smarter than your average girl."

"Well, I wouldn't ask you to coffee."

"And that's where you have no brains." She slammed the book she was stamping closed and put it on the metal cart behind her. "Nietzsche is upstairs, although I'm sure you hardly need his opinion on how to be a chauvinist, it seems you have your own ideas on that."

Hold on, this girl actually knew who Nietzsche was? "Well, I don't know why you bother reading works of Elizabeth Cady Stanton; it seems you're more of a feminist than she ever was."

Her eyes flittered down to the title of the book in front of her while he walked away, hands in pockets, whistling. "I'll be upstairs."


She looked up from her reading, exhausted. It was almost midnight, thank God, meaning she got to go home to her small, quaint apartment soon.

There was no one on the lower level of the library, seeing no desk lamps on or bodies lingering in the stacks. The only light that she saw from the top floor was from none other than the annoying boy from before.

She sighed, trudging her way up the steps to the philosophy section. She tapped her fingers on the table he was working at, furiously writing notes and flipping through another autobiography of Nietzsche.

"It's almost midnight," she said loudly, smiling in satisfaction of seeing him jump nearly out of his skin.

"Don't you wear a bell or something?"

"Sorry," she said sarcastically, "I'm not cattle."

"No, you're not," he said suggestively, his eyes traveling over her.

She winced in disgust. "And you wonder why I took you for a woman manipulator.

He laughed, "I'm kidding." She gave a wry smile before sitting in the seat across him.

She flipped his notebook around, flipping through the pages quickly, nodding her head now and then at some things he wrote, his handwriting something akin to chicken scratch, though she could make it out, if only barely.

"What class is this for? How To Insult a Woman in Five Words or Less 101?"

"Ha, funny. No, Comparative Philosophies of the 19th Century."

She paused in turning the page, "That's a graduate course."

He nodded, "I know, I'm in it."

"Huh. I took that last year," she said, flipping the page.

He rolled his eyes. "Overachiever."

"You're just jealous you're being ousted by a girl."

They sat in silence, and she turned his notebook around for him to finish his notes. "I'm Logan," he said, looking back down at the page.

"Huh." She said, finding a stray stack of books on the floor. "Those yours?"

"Now would be the time you give me your name and no, they're not."

"I didn't offer it like you did, and why the hell can't people put books away when they're done?" She bent down to pick up the books and he took the time in her crouched position to notice her features, the ones apart from the amazing ass that he was sure other girls hated her for.

She was thin, but not as if she starved herself. Her gray sweater and riding up just slightly, showing a strip of porcelain skin between the hem and the start of her jeans. A pair of worn Chucks on her feet. He was jerked out of his reverie when she stood up, scanning the bar codes to see where they went.

She had long brunette hair, curled slightly, pulled up in a clip in a half ponytail. And her eyes. Bright blue, and full of more emotion than was shown on her face. Her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration before she looked up quickly.

"I'm serious. You need to leave. It's past midnight now," she said, jerking her thumb to the clock hanging on the wall on the lower floor.

He began gathering his books, shoving his notebook and pens in the laptop bag next to him. He held the Nietzsche book out to her and she raised her eyebrow. "I'm sure you remember where you got it," she said, before walking down the steps to put the books away.

He rolled his eyes and put the book back before jogging down the stairs to catch up with her. "So, do you want to get coffee or something, girl with no name?"

She turned around to look at him, the books tucked safely in her arms. "No."

"See? Who's the one with no brains? I showed off my intelligence, by your definition, by asking you out."

"And I'm showing off my intelligence, by my definition, by not agreeing to go out with you."

He smirked, leaning over the counter which she was behind, shelving some books that were there as special books, to be used in the library only. "Come on, you know you want to."

She bit her lip, trying to keep a smile from gracing her features. "Rory," she said.


"My name is Rory."