It had seemed like a great idea at the start of the summer. I'd saved up money all semester, and, as soon as classes got out, I'd rented an apartment in a small town near campus. It would be perfect, I thought — a bus ride away from the city, with months of opportunities ahead of me. I figured I'd invite some friends to stay with me, and we'd basically live in a party all summer long.
Well, that dream ended fast. Everyone I asked was studying for grad school entrance exams, or had an internship or some shit like that. Truth be told, I didn't have that large a pool of friends to ask to begin with. I wasn't exactly a social outcast, but most of the year I spent focused on my studies, keeping my head down and trying not to draw too much attention to myself. Maybe that's why I was so fixated on the idea of partying all summer long, getting out of my shell.
I was also recently out as gay. I hadn't told my family yet, but I'd decided not to hide it at college, and I was pretty open with the few people who'd thought to ask. That's part of why I chose to get an apartment near the city, too — I figured I'd hit up the gay club, lose my virginity for whatever it's worth, and come back to school a changed man and all that. The trouble there was that my self esteem was practically nonexistent. I don't think I'm hideous or anything. I have some good features, even, but I go from feeling painfully average to fixating on my bad skin, flabby physique, and any other feature I can nitpick in the mirror.
So, one month into the summer, and there I was, sitting at the table in my shabby one bedroom apartment, getting ready to finally give in and open my summer reading. I'd come to accept that, if I hadn't left the house for anything but groceries by now, I wasn't going to any time soon.
I'd stopped by the on-campus library the week before classes got out and grabbed the books I'd wanted for the summer — a few novels, some required reading for my classes next fall, and a couple anthropology and psych books for if I ever started caring about my majors outside of the classroom. I liked studying humanity and all, but it seemed kind of depressing to sit there learning about human evolution when my friends were out getting laid or whatever.
Now, I spread my books out before me, and gave them a lopsided grin. After a moment, I frowned.
"Weird," I muttered, "must have grabbed the wrong book."
Where I thought I'd grabbed a copy of a human sexuality textbook for next semester, there was instead an odd, ancient looking book bound in what looked like leather. There wasn't a title on it, either. If it wasn't so musty looking I'd have assumed it was a new diary or something. Frowning, I reached forward, and opened it. On the first page, in letters which seemed to shimmer under my cautious gaze, was one sentence written in elegant, faded script:
"Think about what you want to know
and then turn the page"
"Weird," I muttered, flipping through the rest of the book. All the other pages were blank.
Shrugging, I turned back to the first page, and closed my eyes. May as well give it a shot. What's the worst that could happen. I took a breath, held it, and thought of...