Some people have a church, others have theaters, even sports stadiums, but my sanctuary is the bookstore. Seriously just being in the same mind, in the same whirlwind as F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Blake, Robert Frost, and all of these other authors. With "the best of times and worst of times", making decisions when "two roads diverge in a yellow wood", working with the Chimney Sweepers, and having raving parties at the Gatsby residence. It gives me life.

Every day after school I come here. Andrew, the store owner, doesn't really mind as long as I don't damage any of the books. I would buy them, but mom and dad have limit my book allowance to a book once a month if I keep up with my chores. Anyway, I sit in the back corner with my nose in a book, escaping the daily stresses and enter my world of stories. Today it's 1984, and so far it is great. The characters seem complex, but appealing and…suddenly, I feel a presence.

You know that presence you feel when someone is staring at you? Like you feel their eyes boring into your soul or something, so I have to look up. Standing down the row from me is some gawky looking kid, with a black mop top and piercing blue eyes. Just standing there, staring. The only thing that made it less weird is he at least had the decency to be holding a book.

"Hi?" I say, looking at him expectantly. He blinks. Then he puts the book on the shelf, reaches into his back pocket, and appears with a memo pad and a pen. He takes a minute to write something down against a shelf and walks up to me. He hold out the memo pad with both of his hands, and I stare at him like he is nuts. He just side smiles and gestures to the pad.

Hi.It says.

"Is this some kind of joke?" I ask him. Hurt flashes through his eyes for a second before he takes a deep sigh and sits down cross-legged in from of me and begins to scribble something else down. Now I feel bad, Dad says I have impeccable wit, but also the inability to have a filter, so I wonder whether or not it sounded rude. I didn't mean to be mean, I am just not accustomed to communicating through memo pad.

I am mute. Well great! Now I feel like a jerk. I sigh and run my hands through my long hair and look up at him guiltily.

"I'm sorry. I…" I begin, but he cuts me off by scribbling something down very quickly.

It's okay, you don't have to feel sorry for me. I know you don't generally meet a lot of mute people. He gives me a warm smile and shrugs.

"Yeah but…You see, my dad says that I don't have a filter and I need to learn to think before I say things. I didn't mean to sound annoyed or anything. I…I'm just…Sorry." He laughs, silently of course, but you can tell that is what he is doing.

I'm Killian. What's your name?

I open my mouth to respond, then quickly shut it and give him a smirk. I shut the book and place it beside me before sitting cross-legged and looking at him challengingly. "THAT is classified information." He raises his eyebrows at me and smiles.

That's not fair, I told you my name!

"I didn't ask you to." I argue.

So?

"So." I laugh.

How old are you?

"Classified."

You're not going to tell me anything?

"Nope! Stranger danger." He shakes his head and leans against the wall.

Why aren't you in school?

"Why aren't you in school?" I respond. He starts to write a response, but I stop him. "What happens when you run out of paper?"

I get more. Duh. Or I use my hand, but that is more annoying. He mimics licking his thumb and erasing something on his hand and then makes a disgusted face. I laugh.

"Why are you even talking to me sir?" I raise my eyebrow. "You can't just go around randomly talking to people."

Isn't that how you meet people?

"That is beside the point." I roll my eyes. "You're like what? Eleven?"

I am 13 thank you very much! He acts mock offended. What about you? You look ten.

"I am thirteen too, jerk." I slap his arm. Then I look at him weirdly. Actually this whole situation is weird. I just met the kid and all of a sudden we are acting like we are the best of friends or something. "Um...why are you here?"

He looks kind of hurt, and scratches the back of his neck nervously. I have lived here for about a year, but I didn't really get out much. But now I can and I am just trying to make friends. Is that okay with you? He smiles wickedly, so I know he isn't serious, but that doesn't stop me from looking at him skeptically.

"Okay?" I hesitate.

I just saw you sitting there reading that book, and I was staring at the cover to figure out what it is. I don't really get to read new books that much, but I am always looking for new options.

"Oh!" I say, picking up the book and showing him the cover. "1984, totally rad book!"

Totally rad? He laughs.

"Shut up!" I nudge him.

Yeah well, I don't really talk to people, but you looked approachable. So I introduced myself and here we are.

"Here we are." I say, followed by an awkward silence. "Well, I am Emma." I extend my hand and he shakes it.

Killian. Obviously. He shrugs.

"Well Killian, it was nice meeting you, but my dad will have my head on a platter if I don't get to the station right after school." I say, slowly getting to my feet. He reaches down, picks up the book, and hands it to me. "Thanks."

Playing hooky?

"Yeah" I say sheepishly. "But don't tell."

I won't, but…The station?

"The police station, my dad runs it." I tell him. "I meet him there every day after school, so I have to get over there before he…why am I telling you this?" He shrugs. "Okay, well…see ya!"

Bye

I dash out of the store with a crescendo of bells behind me.