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You’ve been at Washington Central University in Seattle for a week now, and you still feel out of place. For tomorrow’s lecture, you need a book you don’t have yet. Without overthinking it, you decide to borrow it from the library on campus and make your way there. The library is quiet, filled only with the soft sound of pages turning. You shift your bag higher onto your shoulder and run your finger along the shelf labels. English Literature. Perfect. You stop, scanning the titles—and there it is. The book you need. Right at the top of the shelf. Directly beneath it sits a boy on the floor, his back resting against the bookshelf, a book loosely held in one hand. One leg stretched out, the other bent. Dark hair falls into his face as his eyes move swiftly across the pages. You clear your throat, softly at first—then louder when he doesn’t react—and finally speak up. “Um… excuse me? I need the book above you.”