The second time they met was five minutes later. He walked out of the men's room at the same time as she walked out of the ladies, they looked at one another in the eye, they bowed their heads and moved into the corridor. He was headed to the library after class to get Winthrop's book. Outside, a Midwestern spring evening was trying to happen, making a valiant effort of it. David wanted to walk respectably behind her, to see if the wind might show a bit of her legs beneath her dark fabric flower-print skirt. But he was eager to get that book. On the sidewalk which led to the library, only, he heard her footsteps, too.

Their rate increased, and she drew abreast of him. His eyes were straight ahead but his peripheral visions was getting a real workout. She was thin, shorter than he, brown-haired, wore enormous glasses. The sleeves of her white threadbare falling apart well-loved sweater were pushed up to her elbows- in class he had noticed large randomly placed freckles on her fore-arms. He couldn't make them out in his peripheral, but he could catch a scent of soap and shampoo on the breeze. She walked even more quickly, and was ahead of him.

David was amused. Now he could wait for the wind, or her rapid pace, to reveal strong calves above white socks and penny loafers. No one could see him, so he smiled. She had walked ahead of him so that he could look at her. Suddenly, David frowned and walked more quickly himself. She wanted Winthrop's book. David smiled again. She was probably just going to curl up in her favorite cubicle to study chemistry or something.

He ran lightly past her up the library's forty-two steps. David always ran up steps, and he always counted them, had counted these his freshmen year. Near the top, she passed him. Perhaps she always ran up steps too. Maybe she did have strong calves.

Maybe she wanted that book after all. David ran passed her as she went through the front door, and got the nearest computer terminal. He was a library expert, and in a few key-strokes had Winthrop's call number. David was a library expert, which is why the library had hired him as a staff assistant, his job starting next week. He was a library expert, didn't even need to look at the floor map to know where QR 5302.G22 1993 was located. Fourth floor, aisle thirteen from the right, seventh aisle of books off the stairwell, to the left,

She was already dashing up the stairs. David ran after her, and by floor two started taking the steps two at a time. On the fourth floor landing, he was right behind her. She slammed through the door, and darted left.

David was a library expert. David knew the aisles were too thin to allow him to pass her there, knew QR53022.G22 1993 would be in the middle of the aisle, knew that running along a parallel aisle and back down would take too long, knew he had to pass her now. He began to sprint.

Four aisles, three aisles, two, he passed her, one to go, he dashed around the corner, the smell of soap and and shampoo stronger. A quick ripping noise, but he ignored the snag in his shirt sleeve and ran down the aisle. Somehow, he heard her sweater sleeve catch and rip loudly.

Somehow, as he sprinted, he made out the numbers as he ran. QN. He could hear her feet pounding behind him, could hear her breathing. QO. Her hand brushed his back, tried to tug the waistband of his jeans. He sped up. QP. He was a library expert, knew there was no QQ. He could see the QRs, somehow knew exactly were Winthrop's book was, he could see it, two more steps.

She jumped on his back, knocking him down. He rolled over, tried to hold her, she was reaching for the book, there on the sixth shelf up, he tried to grab her arm, noticed fleetingly that her sweater had torn almost in two, revealing a grandfatherly undershirt beneath and a sturdy blue brassiere. She tried to push off of him, he was aware that she could have used her knees to really dissuade him if she had wanted, he was almost giggling but too breathless, managed to get next to her, almost on top of her, she face down, reached up. he grabbed the book.

They both collapsed, breathing hard. He noticed they had identical scratches from the bookshelf on their right shoulders. Lying there, hip to hip, he opened the book, browsed through it as he caught his breath, read a few sentences, glanced at the introduction, neatly replaced the book, got up and left.

The third time they met was at the orientation for the new library staff assistants, where they would be working together all semester. Gloria, too, was a library expert.