“Shhh!” I bring my index finger to my lips, shooting my fiercest glare across the wooden tables of the third-floor library wing. "Quiet, please! This is the fourth time I’m asking!"
The group of freshmen giggling near the fiction section barely glance my way before lowering their voices by just a bit.
Letting out a soul-weary sigh, I rub my temples. Seriously, do people not know what a library is for anymore? It’s for studying, quiet contemplation, and drowning in existential dread–not for catching up on campus gossip or flirting over open textbooks.
Honestly, if I didn't desperately need the twenty bucks an hour from this work-study gig, heaven knows I wouldn't waste my Thursday night acting as a glorified babysitter for noisy undergrads.
I adjust my glasses and try to refocus, but a
