October 11, 9:42 p.m.

Hello, Notebook. You won’t believe it. I don’t believe it myself. She wasn’t in class Thursday, and I hung around campus all weekend by myself, generally moping. Yeah, stupid, stupid, I know. Jules called fifteen times at least, trying to get me to come down and stay with her and Steph…yeah right. Like I’m going to let her even try to set me up with Stephanie. She’s got all the sensitivity and understanding of a Mongolian horde. Steph’s got enough boys chasing her around; what does she want with me? So that’s the official reason I gave for not going.

The unofficial reason is that I was hoping Sarah would call me. Well, let’s not drag out the suspense; she didn’t call. Pretty soon it got to be Sunday, and I just couldn’t hang out in my room one minute longer. I headed over to the library and got upstairs and buried myself in Saki. A little bitter irony was just what I needed. And I was well into "Sredni Vashtar" when someone whispered, "I love that book."

I looked up, and there she was—Sarah Williams, standing over me with this little smile on her face. She sat down in the chair next to me.

"Hi," I said finally.

"I’m sorry about Tuesday," she said, thankfully interrupting what would have most likely been a horrible and embarrassing spiel. "I was so humiliated once I realized…I would have apologized Thursday, but I just couldn’t go…" She didn’t make eye contact. She just played nonchalantly with the books on the table. But it was studied nonchalance. She may have been a good actress, but not that good.

I needed to say something, so I said, "Well, I didn’t mean to upset you." But what I was thinking was unLOCK you.

"It’s alright," she said. "It was my fault. I just feel so terrible about it, I don’t know what you must be thinking about me. I wish I could make it up to you."

"It’s fine, really."

There was a lot of silence. I felt whatever had happened on Tuesday slipping away, as though now she had apologized, she didn’t have to explain, or let me any closer than she already had. She was getting ready to get up and walk away.

"You like Saki?" I asked, holding up the book.

She looked at it, then at me. It was the first time since we’d been talking that she’d met my eyes. I remember thinking in that moment how strange and wonderful it was when things worked right, how good it was that life wasn’t fair—because when things went your way, you could appreciate it. She nodded to me. "Yes, I do."
"What’s your favorite?" I asked, eager to start a conversation, eager to see her relax and talk. I wanted to know what she was like. If I could make her laugh.

"The Storyteller," she answered promptly.

I smiled. That one is about five people in a train—a small girl, a smaller girl, and a small boy, and aunt belonging to the children, and a bachelor who is a stranger to their party. The aunt tries to keep them occupied with a story, but it’s sort of a rather dull moral tale and the children are not the least amused by it. The bachelor agrees with the children, and the aunt challenges him to tell a better one. He does—about a girl named Bertha who is very good and is eventually eaten by a wolf as an indirect result of her spotless behavior. Needless to say, the children are enthralled by it. "I’ve always liked that one," I told her.

She didn’t leave then. We talked about Saki in library whispers until the windy day outside darkened into night, and I did manage to make her laugh once or twice. And then the student worker in charge of that floor said it was closing time, and we had to leave.

We walked out together. She took a deep breath and sighed. "I feel much better," she said, loudly. "I always want to yell and shout when I get out of the library."

She pulled her keys out of her pocket and I realized she was heading for a car. She looked at me.

"I have to go."

"Okay."

We stood there. I just couldn’t think of what to say next, it seems like I never can when she’s around.

"I want to ask you something," she said.

"I don’t promise any answers."

She smiled at that. "Did you finish that poem?"

I was sort of surprised. "No…I tried. I didn’t get any farther." And I had to add, "I thought you hated it, or something."

She shook her head, her face dark and serious. "No. Something happened to me once, I think. And I think I forgot about it…until I read that."

"I’m…I’m sorry…" And she was looking that way again. I wanted to put my arms around her, and I was fighting the urge to ask her if I could. The only thing that seemed more abysmally humiliating than just hugging her was asking to.

"But I liked what you wrote," she finished. "Goodnight Chris."

"Goodnight, Sarah."

She paused, looking at me quizzically, and I realized she hadn’t told me her name and I hadn’t told her mine. But then she just smiled that little Mona Lisa smile she has, and moved closer to me. And she put her arms around me and kissed me.

She only did it once. When it ended she just pressed against me and held onto me like she was drowning.

I don’t remember what she kissed like. I was too damned surprised. But she held onto me for a long, long time, and I remember that she smelled like rain in the woods and she felt very small and soft and light in my arms. And when she let go and left, she did it without another word.

I must be crazy.

But I think I love her.

--Chris

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