Amy sits in the library, her eyes red and sore. The library is open all night but she does not know if she can stay for much longer. A multitude of books lie in front of her, some of them opened, most of them stacked. One or two have fallen, and she has noticed and ignored them. She has been looking at books for six hours with no break.
Her friend, Melissa, paces behind her, balancing a book in one hand and un-doing her hair with the other. Her hair falls on top of Amy’s head and she stops walking. Amy brushes the intrusive hair away, wondering why the hair has not swept by with her friend. For the past half hour the soft rhythm of Melissa’s shoes on the floor has become part of the quiet, dusty atmosphere of the library. Amy looks up, realizing that Melissa has stopped walking.
Melissa places the book gently on top of the one Amy is reading. Amy barely acknowledges the gesture and begins to read the new page without an inquiry. She is too tired to smile after the words travel through her eyes and into her mind. She rests her right elbow on the table, her palm flat in the air. Melissa takes hold of it; Amy curls her fingers around Melissa’s hand. Congratulations.