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Peter has learned a lot throughout his years in the library, and that’s that there’s a lot of perks being a library assistant.
For one, you don’t have to sit in the auditorium for your study hall, and instead, get to hang out in the cushy booths in the library for the whole period.
Two, usually you just have to shelve books in the beginning of your block, and then you get a free period, with the occasional printer and computer fix or project.
Three, the preschoolers come in and check out the kids section every other Friday, and you get to chat with cute little kids and help them pick out books.
Four, you get to clean the white board, and that’s super satisfying.
Five, you get to laminate things and then cut those laminated things, which is even more satisfying.
Six, you get to eat in the backroom during lunch instead of the loud cafeteria and no one will judge you. Plus, there’s a super cool table with mosaic tile on the top, and the ridges are really calming to run your fingers over while you eat.
Seven, first pick to the good laptops from the laptop cart. And there are ones that are specifically better than the others.
Of course, there are some downsides to the job. Mostly nuisances.
Like for example, said laptop carts. For a school filled with smart kids, you’d think they’d know how to put a computer with a big number in the corner into the right slot, but nooo , people just put them wherever they feel which means that the computers all get mixed up because once you put one in the wrong slot then they are all put it in the wrong slot and it’s just domino effect chaos.
And the computers! Somehow people can’t seem to grasp that you send it to the LIB-Copier. Like, it says LIB! For Library! And if that wasn’t clear enough, there’s a little sticky note on every single computer that says “Print to LIB-Copier.”
And then of course, there are the idiots who try to print in color to the black and white printer, which means that they just waste pages and pages of perfectly good black ink.
And, oh boy, don’t even get him STARTED on the copier. It is a sturdy and reliable copier that printed and stapled and copied well, but it jams like no tomorrow, and for some reason, the other assistants are incompetent and couldn’t read the directions. So that was his job.
But the thing that gets on his nerves the worst was the blatant disregard to library rules. People exiting the side door without signing out at the front desk? Or people letting people enter from the side door when there’s a big sign that says No Entering on it? Or people eating, when there is a policy that you cannot eat in the library, and Peter knows that they are eating because he can hear the wrappers, and it drives him absolutely BONKERS!
But as a library assistant, he doesn’t have enough authority to tell them off. Just passive-aggressively suggest that they stop because they could theoretically get kicked out from the library for their behavior.
But he loves working in the library. He comes to school early in the morning to get the first round of books shelved just so he can get double the amount of shelving done. He has the layout memorized, able to locate any part of the numerical non fiction or alphabetical fiction by pure muscle memory. He adores the end of the year when everyone returns their books just so he can come to the library before school starts (that’s closed during school for testing) and shelve two carts of books in an hour.
The library is great. He can just pop in his earbuds and do his work, and sometimes he even gets to do puzzles when he has the time, and that’s all great.
But there’s another perk to working in the library.
Him.
During his block (the lunch block that was always the busiest due to people escaping the lunchroom to come sit in the library), there is a blonde boy who pops in every once in a while during class and then spends the second three quarters of his lunch (last shift) in the Maker’s Space (where the copier, laminator, and office supplies were).
This boy doesn’t say much to Peter, mostly engrossed in whatever it was he does as he scribbles in his thin (and sometimes thick) pamphlets and makes exaggerated hand movements, mouthing words with a fierce concentration.
Sometimes he dances in his seat, never getting up and actually dancing, but his feet move under the table and he sways and moves his hands in even more complicated motions.
Then, once he finishes, he stops, scrunches his face in dissatisfaction or smiles brightly and pumps his fist in the air beside him.
Peter doesn’t stare at the boy as he does this. He doesn’t.
Peter just happens to have to use the Maker’s Space a lot.
That’s totally the only reason.
Peter, who used to exclusively cut his laminated sheets on the long wooden tables in the main area, has switched to the little desk that was already cluttered with the paper slicer and the cutting machine that was in the Maker’s Space.
For no reason besides the fact that the library gets crowded and noisy during lunch.
The first time Peter actually talks to the boy is actually during his shift. He’s shelving a stack of American president biographies (because the academic government classes did a huge project on them), when MJ, the library assistant that did all of the displays and handled check-in, tells him that the copier is jammed.
Peter groans and abandons his cart, trudging to the Maker’s Space, when he freezes.
Blonde boy fiddles with the copier, eyes wide with panic, fingers carding through his hair anxiously.
He turns to Peter, eyes widening even more. “It’s broken. You can’t use it,” he says.
“I’m actually here to fix it,” Peter says with a nervous smile.
He relaxes. “Oh, thank the Lord. I don’t know what happened. It just started making this noise and then the paper stopped coming out and then this error message popped up and I didn’t know what to do.”
“The copier gets paper jams when it gets big orders sometimes.” He holds his hand out. “Can I?”
He steps back. “Right. Of course.”
Peter starts pulling, twisting, and turning the knobs without even looking at the instructions on the screen. “So… what were you printing?”
“Sheet music. I TA for Mrs. Van Buren, the choir teacher. We had to make forty copies of Carol of the Bells for the winter concert. It’s our joint piece for the year between all the classes, but we don’t have enough copies of the good sheets, so we had to make copies.” When Peter didn’t respond, he continued. “You’re not really supposed to make copies of music. It’s kinda illegal. Not like illegal illegal, but like, you’re supposed to buy the music. But there’s just so many people and that would be ridiculously expensive and the fine arts budget really isn’t generous, and music prices are really extortionate nowadays, and it’s not like we’re distributing them for a profit. If anything, everyone is just gonna throw them away after we’re done so…” He rocks back and forth, hands in his pockets. “So yeah.”
Peter looks up, unsure of what to say. “Oh.”
“So, you work in the library!” Harley points out.
Peter, glad that they are on a topic he can actually contribute to. “Yeah! I do. I worked in the one at my old middle school, and just fell in love with it then.”
“I see you in here a lot.”
Peter’s cheeks warm. “It’s just, uh, it’s quiet in here. People don’t come in unless they need to. They prefer out there.”
He nods. “Yeah, I get that. I like it in here. Don’t think I have enough confidence to sit out there and…” He trails off.
“What is it exactly that you do? I, uh, I see you in here too. And I just,” he gulps uncomfortably, “was wondering.”
“I’m the choreographer for the show choir. And I get to conduct a piece for the treble choir as TA. So I’m usually working on one of those two.” He moves his hand in what looks like some sort of cross. “There’s conducting patterns that Mrs. Van Buren gave me a crash course in. They kill your arms after a while, so you gotta practice them every day to build up your muscles. That’s why I do it.” He pulls out his music. “And, uh, I have show choir before treble choir so my choreography notes are fresh on my mind after class, and I have to get them down as soon as possible. Which is why I do it during my lunch block instead of at home.”
“Is it fun?”
He smiles and nods. “It’s really fun. I’m not the best dancer, but I am a good choreographer. It’s like… I can see everything come together, but I don’t always know how to do it myself. But I think that’s what makes me a good choreographer. I only know how to explain it in layman’s terms, and if I can do it, then so can everyone else.”
Peter pulls a wrinkled piece of paper from the back of the copier, and it sparks back to life. “Your music should come out now!”
“Thank you so much,” he says.
“You’ve got the automated staples on, right?” Peter asks.
He nods. “Thank goodness for it, too, ‘cause I was staplin’ them by hand at first.”
“Well, I will… leave you to it then,” Peter says awkwardly.
“I’ll see you at lunch?” he questions hopefully.
“You will… uh,” Peter holds out his hand.
“Harley!” he says after a moment of silence. “Harley Keener.”
“Peter Parker,” he replies.
“Nice to meet ya, Peter Parker. I think I’ll be seein’ you around.”
Peter nods. “I think so too.”
And he does see him around. In fact, he sees him fifty seven minutes later as he enters the Maker’s Space, galaxy backpack in hand, a little bit of carbonara on the sleeve of his flannel that hadn’t been there before.
“Got a lot to do?” Peter asks.
“Actually, no. All of the winter concert pieces are done. At least, the first draft is. I have to wait ‘til I get home to work it all out in full, though. Which means I just have to run through my conducting patterns a few times and I’ll be set.” He turns to Peter. “And free.”
“Can I… can I see you do your conducting… stuff?” Peter asks.
“It might make more sense listenin’ to the song,” Harley says. He hands Peter one of his bluetooth earbuds, and types away on his phone and a soft but urgent piano starts, and then a beautiful blend of angelic voices begin.
“It’s called Tundra by Ola Gjeilo . It showcases the range of the treble voice, and focuses heavily on a balanced blend.”
“You keep saying, uh, treble? Is that like a women’s choir?” Peter asks.
“We avoid saying the term women’s choir since not everyone in treble identifies as female.”
Peter flushes, embarrassed. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. That’s… that’s honestly really awesome.”
“We try,” Harley says with a grin. Harley focuses his eyes forward and restarts the song, moving his hands in that cross pattern again, bobbing his head to the beat. Occasionally, he makes a different movement, turning to the left or right, raising his hand up or fluttering his fingers down. Peter is caught by surprise when the song ends, the beauty of the music and being completely enraptured in Harley’s movement making the time pass by in what felt like an instant.
“Wow. That’s… that’s really amazing,” Peter says.
“Took lots of practice,” Harley responds.
“I can see how that would hurt your arms,” Peter says.
“Arms were sore for days after my first rehearsal. I was doin’ it for almost half an hour.”
Peter winces. “Oh man.”
“I bet your arms get tired too.”
Peter raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Shelvin’ all those books. I’m sure that can’t be bad for your arms.”
Peter chuckles. “Oh, right. Yeah, and my calves are in the best shape they’ve ever been in. You’d be surprised how many squats you do when shelving. I used to be only able to carry two or three books and now I can have stacks. It means less trips back and forth between the cart and the shelves. Oh, and don’t get me started on that cart. That thing can get heavy !”
“I’m sure,” Harley says with a laugh.
There is a surge of warmth in Peter’s chest at the sound. “I could never do what you do though. Dancing, I mean.”
“It’s really not as hard as it seems,” Harley says.
“No, I mean, physically. I’ve got really bad asthma. Can barely make my rounds in here without needing my inhaler at least once. Can’t imagine spending a whole block dancing while singing. Sometimes I can't even manage playing the saxophone while sitting. How do you do that, by the way? That’s gotta have to take boatloads of practice.”
“It’s all in the breath support and diaphragmatic breaths. And, well, built up endurance. But that comes with time. I wasn’t always good at it,” Harley says.
“What songs are the show choir doing for the winter concert? They usually do pop songs right?”
Harley nods. “Yes indeed. We’re doin’ ‘ At Christmas ’ by Sara Evans and ‘ Show Yourself ’ from Frozen 2 . I did a line dance for ‘At Christmas’ and then a contemporary, interpretive dance for ‘Show Yourself.’ There’s a lot of lifts in that one. It’s gonna be cool.”
“I can imagine,” Peter says. “So, what’s your process? You said you’re not a dancer, so how do you approach writing the moves?”
“Lots and lots of research,” Harley says. “I watch a butt ton of dance videos in my free time, and I screen record the moves that catch my eye, and I label them in my dancing language in my notes. Nothing fancy. Stuff like 'right knee bent, left foot kick.'" He chuckles. "Then, if I don’t have a specific move in my archives, I watch even more videos, usually in the style I’m workin’ with.” He opens his notes and shows his long list of videos. “ Dancing with the Stars, World of Dance, and Dance Moms are my best friends.”
“ Dance Moms? ” Peter repeats, lips curling into a smile.
“Yes, I have watched an embarrassing amount of those videos. I even know all the dancer’s names because they all have different styles that are good for different songs.”
“Who’s your favorite?” Peter propped his head up on his hands, tilting it slightly.
“Kaylee Quinn. Definitely. She is an absolute prodigy.”
“Well, I wouldn’t even know who that is. All I know is Maddy Zeigler and Jojo Siwa.”
“Both extremely overrated,” Harley states.
“Good to know,” Peter says, amused.
“Our winter concert is coming up. Not super soon, but soon enough to maybe put it on your calendar? It’s December 12.”
“I’ll be there,” Peter says.
Peter and Harley continue to chat as the weeks go by. They discuss the many differences between band and choir, Peter lamenting the pain of the first rehearsal of the year in band, envious of Harley and his ability to readjust the tune of his instrument at any moment. They talk about Midtown’s rigorous workload and comparing their teachers and current assignments. They talk about college plans and college application progress, only briefly though because it’s all quite overwhelming and stressful.
They talk about favorite movies and favorite books (Peter has a lot) and their families and their other various extra-curriculars (Peter in robotics and AcaDec and Harley heavily involved with the theatre program as choreographer there too). They talk about everything and nothing, and Peter spends an embarrassing amount of time just admiring Harley conduct, and watching his arms flex as he makes the smooth and fluid moves.
And then December 12 finally has come around.
Peter isn’t sure what to wear to a high school choir concert, but he doesn’t want to show up underdressed, so he puts on his nicest, sweater and cleanest pair of jeans.
The auditorium is dimly lit when he enters, the stage decorated with snowflakes and tinsel, bunches of poinsettias at the ends of the lip.
Peter finds a seat in the middle, not too close to the front, advised by Harley.
He is surrounded by parents that he didn’t know and he is starting to regret not inviting someone else to come see it with him.
He skims through the program, noticing Harley’s name show up in all three of the choirs, and noting the holiday songs he recognized and rereading with curiosity to the ones he didn’t know.
The lights flash twice, indicating that the show was going to start, so Peter settles in his seat, putting the program under his chair.
A woman with big, curly hair enters the stage, her heels clicking on the faded, paint-stained hardwood.
She greets the crowd, attempts to hype up a frankly dead audience, and introduces the first choir, the treble choir, who have silently come on stage and stand on the risers, smiling at the audience.
The concert starts with the treble choir performing a song called “ White Winter Hymnal ” where they sat in chairs and did cool hand percussion. Then, they did “ As the Rain Hides the Stars ,” a haunting song that gave Peter chills.
However, Peter perks up when Mrs. Van Buren introduces Harley and brings him to the podium.
Peter’s breath catches in his throat as he sees Harley, dressed in a black suit and bow tie, fitted to his form.
He smiles at the audience and introduces the song, “Tundra by Ola Gjeilo, a song meant to depict the vast landscape through its musicality,” and turns around.
Peter spends a surprisingly lack of time staring at Harley’s ass, instead amazed by his passionate way he moves with his whole body, not just his arms like in the library. He put his entire self into the song, as if the music was a part of him.
Peter almost can’t focus on the song when he is so lost in Harley’s movement, but hearing the way they mix and shift dynamics, the sound reverberating through the whole room, just emphasizing how much work Harley had put into his teaching.
The song ends too fast, and he cheers a little too hard.
The advanced vocal ensemble comes on, Harley getting settled in the back middle of the risers. They start with a song called “ J’entends le Moulin ,” a ridiculously fast and complicated french song, followed by “ Maoz Tsur ” a Chanukah song which he appreciated, then “ Battle of Jericho ” a crazy a capella song with crazy high and low notes, finishing with “ Christmas Reverie ,” a jazzy Christmas song that Harley had the dreamiest, swoon-worthy solo in, showcasing his low, warm voice that was smooth and buttery.
Then, the show choir comes on after Mrs. Van Buren gives some thank yous, stalling so the singers could get dressed.
And, oh boy, if Peter thought that the black suit was dreamy, the blue dress shirt that clung tight to his biceps was just plain drool-inducing.
Harley’s choreography is everything he had described and more. Seeing his words put to life on the stage was unlike anything Peter has ever experienced. They aren’t mind blowing of course. They’re still just a high school choir. But it’s definitely a step up from what he had last seen before Harley had started choreographing.
It’s dynamic and filled with life. It’s crisp and sharp yet also languid and loose. The lifts, like Harley said, looked difficult but totally worth it.
Speechless, Peter claps a little too loud again.
The concert closes with the whole department singing Carol of the Bells, and then it’s over.
Peter is floating to the main lobby, scanning the crowd until he catches sight of Harley, hair slicked back from sweat, a big cheeky grin on his lips.
“You came,” he says.
“Of course I did. I said I would,” Peter responds. “That was fantastic. Absolutely phenomenal. I really can’t say enough about how blown away I am. I didn’t know that it could be like that. It just… it was just so great.”
“Well, you’re gonna be hearing Carol of the Bells at the cluster concert before break, so you can look forward to that,” Harley jokes.
“I much preferred watching you,” Peter says, snapping his mouth shut as his face went hot. “I mean, uh, really, your solo in Christmas Reverie was… it was amazing. You’re an amazing singer.”
Harley ducks his head bashfully. “I don’t know about that.”
“You are! You’re a great singer, a great dancer, a great teacher, a great conductor, and a great choreographer. You’re just… you’re great.”
“Well, I think you’re pretty great too,” Harley says. He bites his lip. “And I was wonderin’ if you want to grab dinner with me sometime?”
Peter’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Don’t gotta say yes. We can go back to how everythin’ was before, but I… I really like you, Peter, and I wanna treat you right. So, dinner?”
Peter smiled. “Dinner sounds nice.”