---------------------------------------the library------

She blushed and ran off nervously, not knowing why the surface of her cheeks were quickly heating up with a relentless zeal.

"I didn't know anything about that."
"But I just asked for your card and you said you don't have it!"
"I wasn't listening...I didn't know which card you meant."
"You’re in a library! I wouldn't be asking for your gym membership, would I?"

And then it hit her. The red haired girl that was standing in front of her a moment ago, with potentially beautiful freckles sprinkled on her face, could have easily given her the information she so desperately needed. The bureaucracy of membership was only loosely, if ever, held up in that self-righteous establishment. It was something deeper, or yet, shallower, holding back the proceedings of a meaningless material exchange, which was concealed merely by the folds of a folder. The short, carelessly dressed girl, with teeth that were almost perfect and a void confidence, viewed her as a dandy, ditsy, pretty-face, who had no business in that building.
Was she hurt?
She couldn't be. Because being hurt meant that she wished to be something else, or at least appear to be something else. She quickly estimated the number of books she had read that the freckled friend could not even spell the writers' name for. That knowledge was not even necessary, considering that she wouldn't have gone to the library to use the washroom anyway.
At least not on Wednesdays.
So she smiled and stopped herself. She turned around and entered the building again. She grabbed a pencil, not a pen because you never know if they actually work, scribbled a short sentence on the back of her card, and gave it to the girl before slipping away.

It read: " i don't go to the gym.
p.s. fuck you"

She wondered if the girl would ever call.