Borrowing time

I plonked myself down on a plastic moulded chair.
The library, such as it was. A meagre array of workstations full of kids wanting to surf the ‘net for pictures of their favourite bands. A collection of slightly out-of-date reference books, their almost still factual information rendering them, in fact, completely useless.
Behind me I could hear the jabbering of a male teenage student. A highly impressionable girl had sat opposite him and was taking great delight in being regaled by this lad whom, it became apparent, was named John.
I returned to my book, as far as I was able. I managed to block most of the sound, or at least stop it from registering as coherent information, until a young Chinese student broke my concentration.
He seemed to be asking John if he knew where ‘Beccy’ was. John was polite enough but seemed slightly embarrassed in front of the unnamed female. He got rid of the other male.
“Howd’ya know him?”
“From music.”
“What’s he like?”
“Alright, like.”
Later they left and I looked up pictures of Chinese people on Google.
I don't remember how long it was until another person entered the room. I wish I had somewhere to be.