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University textbooks have no right to be as expensive as they are, John thinks, as he makes his way to the library.
Really, with the amount that students have to pay just to go to university at all, textbooks should be free. At the very least, they should be discounted more than the lousy 5% off that you get if you become a member of the campus book store, which brings the price down from impossibly expensive to just depressingly expensive. This should especially be the case when the textbooks are compulsory to pass the course. How can they expect to punish a university student for being broke by dooming them to fail on the exam that contains questions only answerable if the textbook has been read?
In John's first year at university, he was such a good student. He saved up his money for weeks so that he could afford to buy the textbooks for all of the courses he was taking. It cost him almost 300 pounds. Then he got to his first class for the year and was told that his thick textbook was needed for a grand total of one chapter, and then was not used for the rest of the semester. One of his other courses didn't even assess him on any of the textbook's information (and he had wasted hours reading the entire thing).
After that, John had done his research. He never bought textbooks before the first lecture, just in case the lecturer chose that point to inform them that the textbook would be required for little to nothing during the semester. He also made sure to talk to people who had done the course in the years beforehand, to find out if it was really worth spending his money on the required textbook. By the time he reached his third year at uni (his final year of medical science, before he sat the test that would hopefully get him into medicine), he had managed to get away without buying a single textbook. Thank God for online resources.
This has worked well for him so far. Most of the important content for his classes has been covered in the lectures, that which has not been covered by his professors has been simple enough to find online (or, once or twice, in the copy of the textbook kept in the library), and he's managed to get good grades without spending the small amount of money that he earns on textbooks that do more damage to his bank balance than they do good to his academic performance. So far, he's been fine.
That was, up until he went through the study guide that his biological chemistry professor has very helpfully put online and discovered that there is a section on it that specifically references the one hundred pound textbook that he neglected to buy at the start of the year.
So, with three hours left until the exam, he's all but running to the library to frantically learn everything that he should have been reading throughout the semester and he's mentally cursing the person who told him that he wouldn't need the textbook to pass the course.
He knows the library has a copy of this textbook, because he used it earlier in the semester when doing research for one of his lab reports. He knows it's also in the two-hour loan section, and it cannot be taken from the library, but that's okay. He doesn't need it for much longer than two hours, his final exam looming closer and closer every minute, and he wouldn't be wasting any time travelling from the library to anywhere else on campus when he needs to be frantically cramming.
He walks through the library doors like a man on a mission, heading straight to the two-hour loan section, straight to the shelf he remembers the book being on, and then his stomach drops in horror.
It's not there.
John rechecks the shelf twice in case he's missed it, and then checks the shelves above it and underneath it, praying that someone has misplaced it, but it's nowhere to be seen. How can it not be here? How can there be at least one other student in the library who is studying from a textbook that they have not bought within hours of the exam, rather than studying from their own notes? John was foolish enough to not read and take notes on this textbook section earlier in the year, when related information was mentioned in the lectures. How dare anyone else be in the same boat?
"Can I help you find anything?" asks a woman beside him, and he looks over, recognising the librarian who usually sits behind the desk. She's never come out to help him find anything before; John's only ever seen her watch passively as students browse through the shelves. Maybe he's just looking frantic enough to warrant assistance this time.
"The textbook," John says unhelpfully, and then clarifies, "for the third-year biochem course."
The woman looks first at the shelf that John has just been searching, and John wants to scream, because he's got less than three hours until this exam and he's already checked there. She's not nearly as rushed as he is, and he wonders if that's because she doesn't know that there's an exam in three hours, or because she does know and she's decided to make it her life's mission to make students' lives miserable. The latter explanation does seem a bit ridiculous, but John wouldn't put it past her. Maybe this is her way of taking revenge on students who talk in the no-talking zones in the library.
After a minute of searching and finding nothing, the woman makes her way over to the catalogue computer (at her leisurely pace), and she types the name of the textbook into the search bar.
John wonders why she didn't just check that first, rather than wasting time searching on the shelves for a book that might not be there. He does not complain about this aloud, but he's fairly certain that the way that he shifts his weight between his feet gives away precisely how frustrated and impatient he is. The librarian probably knows, given that John has already come to the conclusion that the librarian is an evil witch in disguise who feeds on the souls of stressed students.
(So maybe he's being a little overdramatic. He has two and a half hours left until his exam, he feels like that justifies a little bit of exaggeration.)
The webpage loads (finally), and the librarian frowns. "Huh," she says. "That's odd."
John looks over her shoulder at the screen rather than wasting any more time waiting for the librarian to explain what is odd. He sees it for himself a second later; according to the online catalogue, the textbook is there on the shelf.
The librarian straightens up and moves to go back to the shelf, muttering to herself. "That's odd," she says again. "It should be right here..."
But at this point, John has tuned her out, because he has seen his textbook.
His textbook is in the arms of a tall stranger, underneath two other books on similar topics.
And it is just about to leave the room.
The man has not quite reached the reserve desk yet, which is why the online catalogue says that it should still be on the shelf. However, when John first saw him, he was only a few steps away from the self-help reserve desk, and when John processed that the textbook was within the pile of books that the man is about to reserve, he was only a step away, and now the books are on the desk and just about to be scanned, which means that John needs to act now.
"Thanks for your help," John says to the librarian, the words spilling out of his mouth so quickly in his rush that he's not actually sure that they sounded like English, but that is hardly his concern. He walks up to the man at the desk, mentally coming up with some kind of argument, some way of explaining to the man that, if he is borrowing three different textbooks, surely he can focus his attention on the two textbooks that John doesn't want and lend John the biochem textbook for at least a little while, just while John frantically tries to cram all of the information he needs from his textbook in his head –
He reaches the self-help reserve desk, opens his mouth to start his wonderfully eloquent speech on why John deserves the textbook more than this stranger, and ends up saying, very bluntly, "I need that."
The man looks over at John, his gaze bright, piercing. He eyes John up and down, and John feels oddly like he's being dissected.
"No," the man says, and he turns back to the desk to scan his textbooks through.
The rational part of John's mind tells him that maybe that's fair, maybe the man needs the textbook for the same exam that John does, maybe he's just as stressed as John is, and, to be fair, the man was ever so slightly more organised, as he did get to the library, and to the textbook, first.
The irrational part of John's mind starts referring to the stranger as The Book Thief and entertains a very brief but very enjoyable daydream about fighting the man, taking the book, and running for the hills.
(Which, no, he won't actually do, but he's running off too little sleep and too much coffee and the image puts him in a slightly better mood.)
John clears his throat before he responds, so that this time he does actually manage to form a more eloquent sentence. "The exam is in just over two hours and I haven't been able to buy the textbook this year. I don't need it for long; maybe you can read one of your other textbooks while I go through this one, and then I'll give it back as soon as I'm done."
The man very calmly scans one of his textbooks through, then the next. "Sorry, no can do," he says, sounding not sorry at all. "I also have this exam and I need to read this textbook first; the other two are for the exam I have an hour after this one."
John's frustration and stress surrounding the fact that he is not currently in possession of the book he needs for his impending doom exam ebbs away a little at that. The only thing worse than having an exam in two hours is having two exams within a few hours. It justifies the man's right to have the book a little more.
(Only a little, though. John still hates him for existing.)
"Don't they usually make sure that your exams don't end up being back-to-back?" he asks.
The Book Thief nods shortly. "Generally, yes. However, there's only so much that they can do when you are doing six courses."
Any sympathy that John felt for the man due to his unfortunate exam timetable fades, because with that kind of workload, the man only brought it on himself. Is he crazy? The average student is recommended to take four courses per semester – which is precisely the amount John takes – and he knows that many of his peers only take two or three so that they can juggle work commitments and not die from stress. He had one friend who took five courses at the start of the semester one year and immediately dropped back down to four as soon as he decided which of the five was his least favourite. He's never heard of anyone taking six courses.
There is no way this man was thinking straight when he made the decision to enrol in and remain in six different courses.
Or maybe John heard wrong.
For the man's sake, John hopes he heard wrong.
"Six?" he repeats.
It turns out that he did not hear wrong, however, because the man nods once. "I get bored," he says by way of explanation, and he puts the last textbook through the scanner.
(John's mind starts referring to The Book Thief as The Madman.)
It explains why John doesn't recognise the man, John thinks to himself. John is a good student. He goes to all of his lectures and does all of his readings and stays on top of any sort of assignment. However, as the lectures are technically non-compulsory and are all recorded and put online at the end of the day, he knows that many students choose to give the lectures a miss and watch them in their own time (often on double-speed) when they get home. If The Madman standing before him is taking more than the recommended amount of classes, there's almost no way that he would be able to attend every lecture and would have to listen to at least some of them online. Maybe he listens to them all online, and does all the study in his own time.
Or maybe he has done none of the study up until now, and that's why he's currently reserving three books on the day of his two exams.
The man taps on the touch-screen at the reserve desk, making it official that he has reserved the three books, including the one book that John needs, and John is getting increasingly desperate.
"Look," he starts, "we're both kind of in the same boat here –"
"Hardly," says the man, cutting him off. "You are clearly only taking four courses, so you have a decreased workload and can scarcely be compared to me in that respect."
"Yes, well, that was your stupid decision to take six courses, wasn't it?"
The man gathers the books in his arms and looks over at John, raising an eyebrow. "And it was your decision not to buy the textbook."
John opens his mouth to protest, to tell the man that it wasn't his decision, that money is tight, but it sounds like a pathetic excuse even in his own head. If he had wanted to, he would have found a way to afford the textbook. But, unfortunately, The Madman is right; he found excuses not to.
The man turns away, signalling that the conversation is over – at least in his mind – and John is running out of chances and running out of hope. So, in a tone that he realises sounds almost pathetic after it comes out of his mouth, he says, "Can we share?"
The man turns back to face him, which John takes as a good response, and he continues. "I assume we both want the same chapter that's referenced on the study guide. We can read it at the same time. That way, we both win." When the man's expression doesn't change, he adds, "Please," for good measure.
The man stares at him for a long moment, and then thankfully, thankfully, nods his head. "Fine," he says, and he jerks his head in the direction of the tables. "Come on."
They waste another few precious minutes searching for a table – or at least a couple of chairs – before they accept the fact that every single one of them is taken. John is fairly certain that at least half of them are taking not by people frantically studying for their exams like John wants to be, but by people sleeping on their desks, heads pillowed on piles of textbooks. The library always seems to look like this the closer it gets to exam period. They open the library for twenty-four hours, and suddenly it becomes everyone's home away from home. You need to get there first thing in the morning if you want to get a table, and sometimes even that's impossible, because people have either left their belongings to mark their table as taken, or they are already there, asleep on the desk.
They could leave the library, find one of the outdoor benches or one of the campus cafes, but that will waste more time. John will study anywhere right now. Fortunately, The Madman seems to feel the same, because upon realising that there are no available tables, he turns to John and says, "I hope you don't mind the floor."
They choose a spot near the wall, so they're not blocking the path for anyone who walks this way. The stranger sits first, sitting cross-legged, and he sets the textbook up in front of him, open to the page they need. John takes a similar position first, and then realises that the space taken up by having their legs in that position means that he is further away from the man and further away from the book. So, he uncrosses his legs and stretches them out in front of him instead.
Textbooks aren't made for two people to share and still get a good view of the page. In fact, textbooks aren't even good to read when you're by yourself – sitting them on a desk, or on the floor, eventually puts strain on your neck from leaning over in one position for so long. However, John's priority isn't the strain that this position on the floor is causing him, but instead how close he can get to The Madman, and thus the textbook. He ends up with the outside of his thigh against one of the man's knee, and he leans over to read the textbook so that his arm just brushes against the man's shoulder. The man fortunately does not seem to have a large enough personal bubble to make him want to move away.
Unfortunately, the position is not the only problem that arises as they share the book. Within the first few minutes, they discover another problem: they read at different speeds.
If John had more time, he would be going through slowly, making notes or at least highlighting key words as he went. He knows today that he doesn't have time to do that, not even if he had the book to himself. He doesn't even have time to read every word, so he's speed-reading. Unfortunately, his speed-reading is slower than the Madman's speed-reading. It's only at the second page when the other man reaches to turn the page, and John slams his hand on top of it to stop him. "Give me a second," he says, and he finishes the page before he lets the other man turn it.
There's only ten seconds, at most, between the time it takes the Madman and the time it takes John to read a two-page spread, which is not all that much. However, it begins to add up when he's stopping the man from turning the page for ten seconds after he's finished reading it, every single page. It only takes five minutes for him to get fed up.
"Oh, for God's sake," says the other man, when John next tells him to wait a moment before he moves onto the next section. "How slow do you read?"
"I'm going as fast as I can," John protests. "Are you just skimming it or something? Because I do actually want to retain the information in this at least until the end of the exam."
"You're not going to retain the entire chapter's worth of information no matter what you do," says the man. "You're wasting time trying to read through all of it, even if you are, as you said, going as fast as you can."
John looks up at him and raises his eyebrows. "Okay," he says. "What's your strategy, then?"
The man shifts, and turns the textbook so that it faces John a little more. "With this textbook in particular, it's easy," he says, and John resists the urge to grimace, because as far as he's concerned, this textbook is too dense for his liking. If the Madman is finding it easy, clearly they have very different capabilities, and whatever strategy he is using to get through the book quickly may very well not transfer over to John.
The man points to a word on the page – a keyword that is written in bold, such that it stands out among the rest of the block of text. "Surely by now you've realised that not all of this information is unfamiliar, correct?" he says, and then looks sceptical. "That is, assuming you have been paying enough attention to the content of the lectures and the online readings."
John narrows his eyes. "Of course I've been paying attention, and yes, of course I know that some of this has been covered before. I'm more worried about the things that haven't been covered before, seeing as they will be the things that I fail to get right on the exam if I don't read this textbook."
"Again with the reading. You don't need to read the textbook, and you most certainly don't have the time to read it and still be able to memorise it all for the exam. No, what you should be doing is skimming through to each of the bold keywords and judging if that topic is familiar. If you understand what the word means and what topic it belongs in, then you know that you've covered that topic before – either in this course or a previous one – and there is no point wasting precious brain capacity re-reading it. That information is stored in your head somewhere already. If you find an unfamiliar keyword, then read the section it belongs to, because that will be the information that you need from this book. See? Simple."
John raises his eyebrows in surprise. That method of study actually makes a lot of sense, given they are short on time. He still has time to read all the unfamiliar keywords and topics, and because he's focussing more of his attention on a smaller section of the textbook, he'll likely be able to remember the information better. Additionally, looking at the keywords that are familiar and searching for the information in his mind pertaining to what the keyword means will allow him to refresh his memory.
So, John says, "That's actually not a bad idea."
The Madman – who may be better titled as The Mad Genius – rolls his eyes. "Of course it's not a bad idea. You people fill your heads with all kind of pointless information; reading through the textbook like this will allow you to target the more important information and give that a higher priority in your brain. Now, while this tutoring session has been fascinating, we do have a textbook to read."
"Right," John says, and he turns his attention back to the textbook. The man straightens it up in front of them, turns the page, and they start reading.
And it works. The Mad Genius' method of study works. There are no longer gaps of ten seconds between when the other man finishes the page and when John does – John is still slightly slower, taking a little more time trying to remember if he has covered a certain topic before or not, but now rather than asking the man to stop turning the page every time, John is able to look over the last few keywords on the page when the man reaches for the corner, so that John only has to ask him to turn back to a previous page if he realises, belatedly, that one of the keywords was an unfamiliar one.
They finish the entire chapter with an hour to spare, which is far faster than John would have expected as he was heading to the library earlier, and far faster than John has ever finished a chapter of a textbook before. He doesn't realise how far through the book they've managed to get until the man turns the page, and they find not more blocks of text, but a chapter summary and a page of references. John stares at it for a long moment, wondering if maybe he started reading too quickly, looking at words without really processing them, but as he goes over it in his head he realises that he can remember the topics that had been unfamiliar to him at the start.
It's probably not a method of study he could use normally. After all, this method was only practical for this chapter in question because he is familiar with the majority of the content in it. Had he tried to do this with one of the readings from the start of the semester, he would have ended up needing to read all of it anyway, because he would have gotten to any of the keywords on the page and realised that they were unfamiliar. However, for revising for exams, and for occasions like today, when he knows that he needs the information from this chapter but already knows some of it, it seems to have worked well.
The man, clearly also finished with the chapter, pushes the textbook across the floor so that it's sitting more in front of John than himself, still open on the final page of the chapter. "There's some 'review questions' at the end, if you'd like to waste your time on those," he says.
John skims over them briefly. "You're not going to test your knowledge?"
The man makes a dismissive hand gesture. "You might benefit from them, but I surely won't. They're far too easy. I'm sure if I bothered I could answer them all in a matter of minutes."
John thinks there might have been a faintly hidden insult in there. He raises his eyebrows at the man, and picks up the textbook, tilting it so that John has a clear view of the page but it is now hidden from the other man. "Oh, really?" he says. "All right then." He skims his eyes down the list of review questions, and chooses one at random. "What are the main types of lipids?"
The man rolls his eyes. "I do hope you didn't choose that one believing it to be difficult. Triglycerides, phospholipids, and steroids."
When the man doesn't add to that list for a couple of seconds, John grins. "And waxes," he finishes.
"Waxes," repeats the man. And then again, sounding frustrated with himself, "Waxes."
John bites back a laugh. "What was that you were saying? Something about these questions being easy?"
The man glares. "They are easy. It slipped my mind for a second. Had we been asked that on the exam, I would have easily seen once I'd written the answer down that I had forgotten one. I simply am not trying hard enough to answer questions given by you."
"Sure you aren't," John replies. It only makes the man narrow his eyes more.
"Shut up," he says, and then he snatches the textbook out of John's hands, turning it around. "Fine then, why don't you answer one? What's the structure of a phospholipid?"
They spend the rest of the hour in this way, throwing questions back and forth. They start with those that are in the textbook, and when they finish with them, John pulls out his notes and asks questions that he makes up from them, and the man also, somehow, makes up questions without physically having any notes in front of him. It starts out like some sort of competition, like they are trying to be the one who answers the most questions correctly. They are not counting, not properly, but they can keep track, at least vaguely, of who has answered more correctly. Which, unfortunately, is the other man, but if pressed, John will maintain that the only reason for that is because the man keeps making up questions from his own head and so the questions themselves are bad questions.
Competition or not, however, it helps, a lot. It forces John to revise, bringing topics to the forefront of his mind, and listening to the other man answering questions gives him another way of phrasing something or another way of looking at something, to help him understand concepts and remember them. It's quite possibly the most productive pre-exam study session John has ever had, given that, by this stage, he's usually passively reading and re-reading his notes, and so it helps, quite a lot.
When they hit the two hour mark after borrowing the textbook they return it, so that they aren't subject to the unnecessarily expensive library fines, and they walk together to the exam hall, still throwing questions at each other until they reach the courtyard outside of it. Students are already gathering, waiting to go in. John recognises a few faces, though he doesn't go over to join any of them, instead staying with the man, until the doors to the hall are opened and they get ready to file in.
"Thank you, by the way," John says, as the crowd begins to move towards the doors. "For sharing the book and for studying with me."
The man makes a dismissive hand gesture. "You scarcely needed it. You seem studious enough and you seemed to know what you're talking about. I expect you'll be fine."
John raises his eyebrows in surprise at the compliment, but he grins. "Thanks," he says, and then adds, "Hey, I didn't actually catch your name. I'm John."
"You didn't bother asking my name, you mean, before you started demanding I give you the textbook," says the man. There's no real malice in his tone. "It's Sherlock."
John smiles, and they reach the door. "Good luck, Sherlock," he says, and the man – the Book Thief, the Madman, the Mad Genius, Sherlock – nods his head.
"And you," he says, and then they both move into the silent exam hall.
(Of course, in the end, it turns out that nothing from the textbook was on the exam. After that experience, however, John finds he doesn't feel that frustrated.)