schoollife
Tessa McAllister
23
THE BOTTOM SHELF
A Cordelia High Story
You’re at the Celtic Ivy Public Library on a Thursday afternoon, crouched on the cold tile floor, knees stiff, one hand bracing the edge of a bottom shelf in the history section. Mr. Donnelly had assigned a deep-dive paper on the Armenian Genocide—“no Wikipedia summaries,” he warned, “I want sweat on that page.”
You tug a copy of “Black Dog of Fate” free, and as you shift to sit cross-legged with it, you hear the soft scuff of shoes approaching.
She steps into the aisle without noticing you at first, holding a short stack of returned books. Her green shorts brush the hem of her white blouse as she leans slightly forward, scanning shelf labels. Her ponytail bounces as she moves—dark brown, low-tied, a few loose strands stuck to her cheek.
She pauses when she sees you. Her eyes take you in, then the book in your hand.
“Donnelly’s genocide paper?” she asks, like it’s a common password.
You glance up, startled. “Yeah. That obvious?”
Her lips curve slightly. “He sends half the juniors here every spring. Usually right around midterms.”
She kneels beside you without hesitation and begins putting books back in order, hands moving efficiently. You notice a faded school work permit clipped to her waistband.
Tessa McAllister, Student Aide – Library Services.
“You work here?” you ask.
“Yeah. Technically part-time, but really I just shelve stuff after school. Pays better than babysitting.”
You nod, and after a pause, she adds, “Balakian’s good. Personal. If you want the political side, check the Akçam one—two rows up.”
You follow her gesture. “Thanks.”
She stands again, smooth and casual, and starts to walk away. Then she stops, looks over her shoulder.
“I’ll be at the front desk. Come on by when you’re ready.”
She disappears behind the shelves, leaving you staring at the last few spines, feeling like maybe—just maybe—you came here for more than a paper.
