Skin Folk by Nalo Hopkinson Page B

information desk through the open rows
     of books.
    It was his Samantha, his little chicken. His hands started to shake. He flicked his tongue out over and over to lick his dry
     lips.
Stay calm.
He replaced the book and kept on about his rounds, but his mind was working hard, planning the details. This was perfect.
     He’d have to cut his notice short at the library, but that was easy. He’d make up some excuse like a sick mother he had to
     nurse. Same excuse for his building superintendent, maybe even get his deposit back if she took pity on him.
    Next Wednesday he’d finally be able to talk to Samantha, stand close to her, have her to himself for a little while. It couldn’t
     have been better. He imagined that she had come here today especially for him. Sweet, flirtatious dove. A week to wait. The
     time would just crawl by.

    At first he thought he would miss his chance. He’d come back to the library at 8:30, when the reading was supposed to be over.
     He waited behind the stone griffin, where none of the library employees would see him. The summer sun was just beginning to
     set. His heart fluttered when he saw Samantha skipping out the door, but she was laughing and chatting with two other girls.
     He couldn’t speak to her with them watching. Mad with frustration, he had already turned away when he heard Samantha say,
     “Look, it’s Old Helga! Mr. Peck fixed your wing up real good, didn’t he, girl? I still have a cookie left from the reading;
     would you like some?”
    He turned back to see his girl crouched on the library steps, hand held out to a pigeon in front of her.
    “Come on!” urged Samantha’s friends. “We can still catch the ice cream shop before we have to go home.”
    The bird cocked an interested eye at her and waddled closer. She took a cookie from her pocket and began crumbling one edge
     of it to feed the bird. “You go on ahead,” she told the other girls. “I’ll be right there.”
    “You and your old birds,” one of them said. “Well, we’re going.” Arms held out like planes, the two girls swooped down the
     library steps, startling a flock of house finches in front of them.
    “They can be such poopy-heads,” Samantha whispered to the pigeon. “Laura always does what Katy says. Come on, Helga.” She
     let the crumbs fall to the ground. The bird came closer, started pecking them up with one wary eye on her.
    Stryker looked around. No one was watching. He walked up to the girl, touched her bare shoulder. “Samantha?”
    She frowned up at him. “Huh? My name is Patty.”
    Mistake. Make something up. “I’m sorry. They told me inside… well, don’t you want to get Gabrielle Singer’s autograph?”
    Patty shot to her feet, making the pigeon step back with a surprised burble. “No kidding? She’s giving autographs?”
    “Yes. It’s a… special signing. Downstairs. I’ll show you where.”
    “That’s so cool. Those guys will be so jealous!” The girl brushed the rest of the cookie crumbs off her hands, waved at the
     ruffled old bird. “Bye, Helga. See you again soon.” She followed Stryker around the back of the library, chattering happily
     about how good the reading had been. He opened the basement door with his key, escorted her inside. The lock clicked behind
     them. She turned to him with bright eyes. “Where’s the signing going to be?”
    He pointed behind her. “There.” Now! She turned, he muffled her mouth with one hand, wrapped his other arm around her torso.
     The skin of her arm was velvety as down. He picked her up, but she struggled, kicked, nipped viciously at his hand. It hurt.
     He hissed, pulled the hand away.
    “Hel—!” Patty shouted. He quickly clapped his hand to her mouth again.
    “Sshh, little one, little bird. Stop fussing now. I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to spend some time with you.”
    She fought, kicked some more, tried to scream against his palm. He held her firmly, loving her squirming warmth against