Ever since his friends moved out of Derry, Mike became a bit of a library nerd. The musty smell of the books and quiet rustling of the pages reflected his soul somehow. It didn’t hurt that Henry Bowers certainly wasn’t going to go to the library anytime soon. He had a table reserved in the back corner for almost every lunch period and kept all his materials in the circulation office. Luckily, Mrs. Roberts approved of any child who wanted to spend time around the books and she had supported his project from day one. Others in Derry had already labeled him trouble for the same interest.
He flipped open the History of Old Derry and picked up where he left off, a massacre in the logging camp just outside town about a hundred years ago. He grimaced at the gruesome images painted of the event and closed the book, pushing it away from himself. There went his appetite. “Huh? O-oh, I’m, I’m alright,” he replied gruffly, not able to remember the last time someone at school had asked how he was doing. “Yeah, Mike Hanlon,” he agreed. He waved a hand at her carelessly. “Nah, it’s not rude. It’s nice.” He smiled brightly and glanced at the empty chair beside himself. “Uh, did you want to share the table? I’m just finishing up lunch,” he lied, suspicious of almost everyone in town by this point. “I guess I’m a little surprised you noticed me. I don’t talk much or anything.” Lately, Mike felt like a ghost as he sat in class obsessing over his project and his long gone friends.
