Libby the Librarian: A Rom Com Novella Read Free

you in a dress,” she said.
    “I wore dresses in high-school.”
    “You’ve kept these since high-school?”
    I had.
    “You can really still fit into these?”
    I could.
    “Some of these are really cute.” Shasta seemed surprised. “I mean they are totally back in style.”
    “Really?” I don’t pay much attention to things like that, but Shasta does, so I took her word for it.
    “Try one on,” Adam said.
    “Why?”
    “Just do it.”
    “I’d like to see this one on,” Shasta said. She handed me a slim red dress that used to be a favorite of mine, way back when. “Hold on, you need shoes.” There was a pair of heels in the very back of my shoe shelf. Leftovers from my cousin Tabitha’s wedding, in which I had served as a very reluctant bride’s maid. I don’t know why I kept them.
    I went in to the bathroom and put the dress on. I felt ridiculous, like I was wearing a costume. I came back out, carrying the heels in one hand.
    “Well?” I demanded, daring either of them to laugh at me.
    “That looks great!” Shasta said.
    “Put the shoes on,” Adam said. I stepped into the heels. I felt awkward. Gangly. I hoped I didn’t fall over. I hadn’t worn heels since Tabitha’s wedding, where I’d spent the whole time up front gripping the elbow of Bride’s Maid Number Three. She probably still has the bruises.
    Adam wasn’t satisfied. “What do you think of these?” he asked, holding up an old pair of glasses with thick b rown frames. “I found them in your top drawer.”
    “You went through my drawers? That’s an invasion of privacy.”
    Adam looked slightly chastened—maybe he just doesn’t have a good grasp on protocol when in women’s bedrooms—scratch that. More likely he doesn’t think I count as “women.” I can’t imagine him going through his girlfriends’ dressers like that.
    “Did he do this to you?” I asked Shasta. “Did he demonstrate such a wanton lack of respect for the sanctity of a woman’s boudoir?”
    Shasta didn’t want to get involved, but I ’m guessing from her expression that the answer is no. It’s just me, then. My desire for privacy doesn’t count.
    Shasta took the glasses from Adam and held them up. “These are perfect!”
    “Perfect for what?”
    “They scream Sexy Librarian.”
    “They scream myopic ninth-grader, is what they scream.”  That was n’t a year I was eager to revisit. I thought the glasses were hideous, but I took off my sensible wire-frames and replaced them with the chunky brown monstrosities, just to show how ridiculous they looked.
    Adam and Shasta weren’t laughing.
    “They really are great!” Shasta said.     
    “You’ve got to be kidding!“ I protested.
    “No, put some makeup on you. Put your hair up and you’re perfect,” Shasta said.
    “Perfect? Perfectly laughable.”
    “Nobody is going to laugh at you. Trust me,” said Adam.
    I was heading back to the bathroom, when I heard Adam say, “I never noticed what a nice ass—“
    “—assets Libby has. Yes, she does. Very nice assets.” Shasta finished his statement for him, like she knew I could hear them talking about me.
    It’s very weird to overhear your friends assessing the shape of your assorted anatomy like that. It made me feel like a horse at auction, all over again.
 
    B y the time Shasta and Adam left, I was exhausted. I was too tired, even, to reorganize my books. It’s hard work trying to be nice to people who have your best interests at heart, but are probably leading you down a path to public humiliation. I was glad I wouldn’t have to deal with any more “personal transformation” tomfoolery until next Sunday.
    All week I avoided Adam. It wasn’t hard. It was finals week , and that meant he was busy. I wasn’t. Everyone suspends their research during finals week, so I had a lot of time on my hands. I wasted a lot of time at work—when I should have been enriching my mind or catching up on my filing—looking at those websites