"Jill! Jill!" I scream across the quad. As I get closer, her raven black hair comes in view, she's bent over a book with a coffee in her hand. When she hears me screaming her name like a banshee, her head lifts.
"Eliza, where were you? I've been on this bench for over an hour and my ass is numb." She rubs it gently. I tie my curly locks in a ponytail, the winds out today are strong, I believe the forecast said it was going to rain tonight. Looking up at the sky, there are grey-white storm clouds, angry and gloomy.
"Sorry." I apologize. "I had my sister's roommate drop me off, he was too busy coaxing some chick he slept with." The girl that Daniel slept with didn't think what they were doing was casual, so she cried and cried and cried until there was nothing left. He spends 30 minutes cooing and coddling her, I just wanted to open the door and kick her bony ass to the curb. After getting her under control, we were racing to the car to get me to campus, and him to his 10:30 Econ class.
She sighs, "Just- tell me next time, it's rude to leave a person hanging." Her pink manicured hand reached for something behind her, it's a steaming cup of coffee. "I got this for you, surprisingly, it's still hot."
"Thanks, babe. You ready?" She nods, grabs her stuff, and proceeds to walk down the concrete with me. Jill and I's plan is to study in the library for a couple of hours. She needs help with her history course, while I need her help in math. It's never been my strongest subject; these integers and fractions are kicking my ass. It's so useless, it's not like I'm going to need to know what ½ plus 2/4 is when I'm collecting evidence at a crime scene.
"Why don't you just get a car? Don't you have your license?" I clutches the hot coffee in my hand as I hear what she says. I take deep and calming breaths; I don't want to freak her out with my PTSD. "I mean if you don't know how to drive I can te-
"I know how to drive!" I snap. Her face looks worried, she sips her coffee, says sorry, and walks quietly next to me. "I'm sorry Jill, I had a-a bad experience driving and never got over it."
She nods, "I get it, everyone goes through traumatic experiences that we can never get over. For me, it was at Cindy Coldburger's 8th birthday party, her mother bought her a clown and it scared the shit out of me. I couldn't sleep for days. I totally get it." She doesn't, being scared of a clown versus getting scarred by a car accident isn't the same thing. But I don't say anything, I just sip my coffee.
I ease over the tension by asking a question, "Which library are we going to? I ask this because there are 24." When I was on my college tour, we visited the Bancroft Library and The Moffitt, which are both huge by the way. Some of them we didn't visit because they were private, or closed.
"Damn? Uh, we're going to the Bancroft Library, it's so beautiful on the inside, it reminds me of "The Crown." She coos.
I can't lie, it does. We walk up the ten stairs, open up the large oak door and walk inside. The smell of stress, old books and a hint of lavender seizes in the air.
The Bancroft Library is in the center of Berkeley, it's the primary special collections library that holds all the prize possessions. That was the only place we didn't get to go since it was closed off by red velvet ropes. From what I could remember from our tour guide, it was founded by Hubert Howe Bancroft in 1859. It holds over 600,000 books, 8 million photographic prints, and 20,000 historical maps. If I was looking to rob a place for money, it would be this place.
Jill and I stand in the middle of a large circle. Medium size circle in the middle with grey triangles with gold surrounding it. Long, grand golden staircases loom around us going on and on and on. We walk through a walkway that has the words, "The Bancroft Library: Koret entry Hall", on its breastplate. A woman sits at an informational desk, her fingers twiddling away on the box computer. I know this library is old, but shouldn't they modernize their technology?
"Welcome to the Bancroft Library, what do you girls need?" She asks us.
"We've come to study; this place is pretty huge do you know where we should go?" She tells us to walk down the next hall and take a right. We thank her and follow the directions, Jill and I push open double doors, it's one long room with rows and rows of tables with those green lamps that ivy league colleges have. Various students sit at the tables, writing notes, listening to music, or reading. On the side of the tables are even more rows of bookshelves, piled with books written by wise old philosophers and people long forgotten by society.
"Let's sit over there." I point out a table at the end of the room.
As we sit down, Jill and I start to pull out our notes and books, along with colored pencils to highlight chapters. "I need your help with this history assignment. When the professor started talking, he lost me."
I laugh, "Fine, show me what you got."
"Ok." She flips open her notebook and textbook. "Are you sure your good at European History?" She asks, unsure of my expert abilities.
"Try me."
She pushes back her raven hair; grey eyes are on alert. "What war was fought between 1455 and 1487 in England?"
"The War of the Roses." She writes it down.
"Next question, what king was killed on the battlefield by Henry the 7th?"
"Richard, Duke of Richmond." Her hand scribbles the answer fast. She asks me 10 more questions, her face shocked by all the answers I give her. I told her I knew my European history.
"Oh my god, you answered everything. How- how do you know all of this. I can't even remember my mom's phone number."
"I watch a lot of period drama shows like, "The Spanish Princess", "The White Queen and Princess", also "The Tudors". Trust me, you can learn a lot from those shows, better than reading it from a textbook," I tell her. I'm so captivated because of the fighting, bloodshed, and occasional family drama.
"I'm def watching these shows, isn't Jodie Comer in "The White Princess? Of course, she is, why would I ask that." She blows raspberries with her mouth.
"Since we're done with you, help me with my stuff." Jill sits next to me, calculator in hand, as she explains Logarithms, algebraic expressions, and how to find absolute zero. It's only been 30 minutes and my mind is already throbbing excessively. I can write a paper, tell you any element on the periodic table, but ask me what time the train left the station and I'm lost.
". . .So, all you have to do is bring up the five, it will cancel out the bottom number and that's how you get absolutely zero. Are you understanding?" She asks as I write down the answer.
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