And pink was the obvious choice for this week’s flower once I learned that pink stood for gratitude and appreciation. We would all be forever grateful to Wally—Beverly, Sonia, Lenny, me, Black Hat Guy, and all the other people who relied on the library to be here for them, whether they came in twice a day or twice a year.
It was 11:20 in the morning, August 29, and my last free Tuesday before school began. The library was bustling with people. Black Hat Guy—I mean Rusty—was in his quotes chair, wearing his purple AWO shirt, reading the newspaper before heading off to work at the shelter. The elderly Jansen couple were seated together in the reading room, leaning over the same magazine. A man wearing a tie and khakis was signing on to a computer next to a twentysomething-year-old researching online. Two moms in the children’s room were chatting while choosing board books, and a woman in shorts and hiking boots was making copies at the Xerox machine while sipping an iced coffee in a to-go Bean Pot cup.
Beverly came out of her office, a pen and paper in her hand. She walked around the library to every flower arrangement and copied down the names of the senders. I knew she would be working on thank-you notes all morning. “It’s never a burden to write them,” she had told me. “If you have a lot of them to write, it’s because you’ve been blessed.”
Beverly answered a question for someone at the computer catalog, then nodded and smiled at the women in the children’s room before heading back to her office.
“Beverly, wait.” I rushed over to her. “I have an idea. For your thank-yous.”
“I’d love to hear it,” she said, her face relaxed and happy in a way it hadn’t been for weeks.
“What if I made a small drawing of Wally’s flower to include in all the letters? Like a little Wally souvenir?”
Beverly smiled wide. “I love that idea, Jamie. Wonderful.” Then she asked, “Do you need paper?”
“No, I have my sketchbook with me. Always. So I’ll cut paper out of there.”
Beverly showed me the size of her stationery so I could match it, then returned to her office to write.
The library was full, but no one needed my help just then. I had finished all my shelving, and my shelf-reading work and the book drops could wait.
I grabbed my sketchbook, sharpened my pencil, and pulled a stool over to the circ counter. I looked closely at the pink rose. It was just a flower, but it seemed like more to me, the way it stood tall and strong, quiet but sure.
The petals reminded me of pages in a book, each one telling a small part of its story—the story of Wally and his weekly visits to the library, and the story of my summer in this place.
I put my pencil on the blank white page and started to sketch. I had a lot of drawings to make.
But this first sketch I drew, this one was going to be for me.
Beverly
The next morning when I walked into the library, Sonia and Lenny were at the circ desk, eating cookies and acting goofier than Vic on a sugar high after too many KitKat bars. They were also wearing matching shirts, which I was about to tease them for until I got a better look. The Library Friends League shirts!
“They’re here!” I blurted out.
“Fresh from the printer,” Lenny said happily. “We don’t need the shirts to save the library anymore, Jamie. We need them to gloat that we won!”
“No, Lenny.” Sonia elbowed him. “We are gracious victors. We wear these shirts in celebration of our new Friends League, which we definitely need, yes?”
“Of course, of course. I’m nothing if not a good winner,” Lenny said, “even though the things I’d like to say to that Trippley—”
And Sonia cut him off by shoving an entire cookie into his mouth.
“Jamie, look. Lenny made a spine poem,” Sonia said, pointing it out to me and wiping crumbs off Lenny’s face at the same time. “We’re leaving it on display all week.”
It was just three titles:
The Public Library
Like Life
Reason for Hope
“It’s perfect,” I said.
“Even without any scat in it,” Lenny added, laughing. Then he told me to go downstairs to grab a shirt.
The shirts were organized in the box by size and I helped myself to three of them, one for my mom, one for Aunt Julie, and one for me. I pulled mine on over the tank top I was wearing. It smelled slightly of ink and a lot like the cardboard box it had traveled in, but I didn’t want to wait to wash it first. I wanted to match Sonia and Lenny, and I wanted to celebrate our victory.
I looked in the mirror over the staff kitchen sink. I loved the shirts, and not just because of who drew the logo. I loved them because of what they stood for—this place, this summer, this whole community coming together, all we had been through and how much it all mattered.
Every member of the Friends League would receive a shirt, and we’d sell the rest at our next fund-raising event. And we would have fund-raising events now. The Friends League would organize book sales, bake sales, T-shirt sales, all to benefit the library.
As I reached the top of the steps, I had a perfect view of Beverly in her office, the door wide open, yet another vase of flowers on her desk, dwarfing the computer monitor beside it. She looked up and smiled at my T-shirt, then looked down at her own, and nodded me over to join her.
“They look wonderful, don’t they?” she asked, smoothing out the front of her shirt with her hands.
“Yes, they’re perfect,” I said, walking into her office. I had never seen Beverly in a regular, untailored T-shirt before. It made her look as young as a college kid.
“We’re swimming in flowers!” I said, rubbing a soft rose petal between my fingertips.
“Yes, well.” Beverly smiled. “Mrs. Evans sent these. Her note said she was always happy to help ‘fight the good fight.’”
“That was nice of her,” I said. “She did so much for us.”
“She did. And the funny thing is, I sent her a bouquet just like this one last night. From the same florist even. She should get it today. I wanted to thank her personally for all her help. It might be the same exact bouquet,” she said again in disbelief. “That’s a bit awkward, isn’t it?”
I smiled wide, thinking back to my very first day in the library, the very first time I met Beverly. I couldn’t help saying, “Well, what’s so bad about awkward?”
Beverly let out a sigh. “Nothing, I guess.”
“Anyway, they say great minds think alike,” I offered.
“Speaking of great minds”—Beverly looked at me almost sheepishly—“the Friends League thinks we should have a Teen Advisory Committee. They’d like regular input to make sure we’re providing all the services teens need, and they also want to increase the number of teenagers in town who use the library. We may have won our fight with Trippley today, but the budget issue will likely resurface in the future. Having even more of the community on our side will help us next time around.”
She continued, “Several people have suggested that you”—and she emphasized that last word—“be the head of this teen committee. And I agree that you are fully suited for the job. It would be an official position with some responsibilities, but could be flexible around your school commitments.” She clasped her hands in front of her and rubbed them together. “So”—she smiled then, really big—“I’m not even going to ask you what you think. I just want you to tell me you’ll do it.”
I felt something open up and bloom inside me. I wasn’t that kid who messed up anymore. I was that responsible, trustworthy, helpful kid who worked at the library. I was that kid people thought could be a leader. And Beverly agreed. Tingles ran through my whole body, and I didn’t even have to think about it.
“Yes, I’ll do it!”
Beverly came around the back of her desk and put her arms around me. Her hug felt just right, like a book sliding perfectly into place on its shelf. Before she let me go, she whispered in my ear, “Good for you, Jamie. Well done.”
And in that m
oment I had to admit that I really had done well for myself. From middle school scandal queen assigned to community service to being lauded in the local newspaper to becoming head of the Teen Advisory Committee, all in just a few months. Without meaning to, and without expecting it at all, I had managed to have the best summer of my life.
“Well, I have a million and one calls to make now. How about you go get to it at the circ desk? I’d like to wring as much work out of you as possible these last few days.” She winked at me, but it looked a little more like a flinch than a wink. It was awkward, but it was Beverly.
“Sure thing,” I told her, and I got back to work.
Trina
Everyone in town seemed to come to the library that day. We were busier than ever. I was trying to work quickly every time books were returned to get them double-checked and placed right away on the shelving cart. We had a lot less counter space than usual because of the flowers everywhere.
A mom came in with her two daughters, and each little girl handed over a flower they had picked for Wally. They were buttercups, that tiny yellow flower that grew like a weed and cast a faint yellow reflection on your skin when you held it under your chin. When Vic and I were in kindergarten, she taught me that if you could see the yellow it meant you liked butter, and if you couldn’t see it, it meant you didn’t. It was silly, but we still tested each other every time we found one outside.
“Where is Wally’s flower vase?” the older girl asked, her voice quiet and practiced.
I pointed her to the side of the circ desk where Wally’s pink rose stood. I lowered the jar down to her height and she dropped her buttercup in. Then her sister did the same with hers. The younger one covered her mouth with her hands and giggled at the sight of her small flower next to the rose, while the older one smiled a smile that showed every tooth in her mouth. I put the vase back in its spot and thanked the girls. The mom thanked me in return and they left. I watched as they skipped together down the path, hopping and spinning in the afternoon sun as they went.
When a lull finally arrived around four o’clock in the afternoon, Lenny and Sonia took a minute to retreat to the staff kitchen together for a coffee and cookie break. They were discussing which restaurant to try on their date tonight, and when I heard Lenny suggest Jade Noodle Shop, I knew they were going to have a perfect night together.
I had just finished double-checking a stack of DVDs when the door jingled itself open again and three people entered.
Trina and her two shadows.
I swallowed to get the lump out of my throat, but then realized there wasn’t any lump there. I was actually fine.
“Ahhh, air-conditioning,” Izzy said the moment she stepped inside.
Trina walked right up to the desk, with Izzy and Amanda behind her. She dropped an art book on the counter, not even bothering to put it in the returns bin. I watched her eyes scan my hair and then jump to my shirt. She did an eye roll/head shake combination, as if my very existence was infringing on her human rights.
Then Izzy noticed my shirt. “Oh my God, that’s the design you were talking about!” Her voice was loud and excited.
“I wasn’t talking about it.” Trina immediately dismissed any hint of enthusiasm she might have shown about the Friends League.
Izzy’s face dropped into a pout. I almost felt sorry for her.
“Well your mom did show us that drawing at your house,” Izzy carefully defended herself.
“Whatever,” Trina muttered.
“Did you get yours yet?” Amanda asked Trina, then turned to me and said, “Are they for sale?”
Trina answered, “Why would I wear that?” at the same moment that I answered, “Yes, we’re doing a fund-raiser.”
Trina half glared at me, but when I looked her right back in the eye without a flinch or a blush or a blink, she rolled her eyes again, lazily, and looked away.
“I like it,” Amanda said then. “It’s a pretty cool shirt.”
Trina turned to her, a challenge on her face.
“For a library,” Amanda added, a little less confidently.
“Whatever,” Trina said again, apparently running out of vocabulary.
The library bells jingled and an older woman with snow-white hair walked in. She carefully slid two books into the returns bin and then said, “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon,” I repeated.
Trina and Izzy and Amanda just stood there and watched.
“Oh heavens, what a lovely top you’re wearing,” the woman exclaimed. “Isn’t that marvelous!”
“Yes, thank you. They just came in,” I responded, looking down at it. There was no doubt there was a tinge of pink on my cheeks when I looked at the shirt. The shirt was Trey, and I still liked Trey, and there was no way Trina didn’t notice my blush.
But before she could say anything snarky or mean, the white-haired woman spoke. “I’ll be back in a bit. I’m headed to the Large Print.”
“Of course, just behind that wall,” I directed her.
“Thank goodness for large print and the angel who invented it,” she said, laughing to herself.
“We just got some brand-new mysteries in. They’re on the top shelf,” I added as she walked away. She waved a thank-you.
“C’mon,” Trina snapped at her friends. “Let’s get our cookbooks already.” She marched around the circ desk to the room where the cookbooks were, and Izzy and Amanda followed in a line like obedient baby ducklings, just not nearly as cute.
The clock above the door said it was 4:31 in the afternoon. I glanced over at Black Hat Guy’s chair. It was empty, but I wasn’t surprised. I knew he was busy at the AWO, working with the dogs, learning from the staff, hopefully turning his volunteer gig into a paying job.
My eyes were drawn to the Alice quote on his chair again. It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then. My mind raced back to that Monday in June when I’d first stepped into the library to start my punishment. That was many yesterdays ago, and I was certainly as different a person then as Alice was before she fell down that rabbit hole. And yet, yesterday was still part of me. All my yesterdays were my history, my story, and even though I’d turned the page, those yesterdays’ stories were still there. I was composed of every single yesterday of my life, and they all added up to right now. And every single day I woke up with the opportunity to be something, someone, new.
“I’m so hungry now,” Izzy complained to Trina and Amanda as they emerged from the back room, “from all those photos. I need FOOD!”
“Let’s go buy chips at the pharmacy,” Amanda suggested.
“Yes, I need chips!” Izzy replied.
“We’re getting these,” Trina announced as she dropped a heavy stack of cookbooks on the counter before me.
“That was quick,” I said.
“I know what I’m doing,” Trina assured me. “I’m having another party, an end-of-summer bash, and I know exactly what to make.” She flung her library card on top of the books instead of handing it to me.
Sonia always said there were two kinds of people, and that was the kind Trina was: a card-dropper.
Trina was never going to forgive me for my Korea exhibit in second grade or for my yearbook victory in fifth. She was never going to give me a chance, like a book you had once judged by its cover and rejected, but later were willing to give a fair try.
Trina was never going to give me a fair try.
And as I thought about that, two words suddenly floated into my head, carrying with them a special power. So I said them out loud. “Duck feathers.”
“What?” Trina asked, looking at me like I had finally revealed my true insanity for the world to see.
“Let it roll off your back,” I kept going, hearing my mom’s brave voice in my own.
“What are you talking about?” She scrunched her whole face up at me in total confusion.
“Nothing,” I said, and felt a smile break across my face so wide and so strong that I c
ouldn’t hide it and I couldn’t fight it.
I scanned her card and books and handed them all back to her. “Have a nice day,” I said.
Trina took her pile and looked at me. “Uh-huh,” was her reply.
And then she left. Izzy followed her out, talking about chips, but Amanda turned back and returned to the desk, to me.
“You know, Trey’s outside right now and he might want to see that shirt,” she said. “Mrs. Evans said he spent forever drawing it.”
My eyes jumped automatically to the window in the front door to look for him.
Amanda shrugged and added, “Just sayin’.” Then she ran outside and caught up with her friends.
My stomach did a quick jumping jack and my heart did some kind of flitter beat I had never felt before.
Trey was outside.
I left the circ desk and ran downstairs to grab a shirt for him.
I looked down at the design on the shirt, the swirls of black vine dipping and climbing, the swoopy calligraphy both delicate and strong at the same time. Then I peered through the window and saw Trey seated outside, just as Amanda had said, his sketchbook in his lap, his hand moving over the paper in slow, measured strokes.
Sonia came back upstairs with her coffee. It was in a mug that said Professional Bookworm.
“Very cute.” I gestured to her mug.
“Yes. Online. You can find anything,” she said. “I ordered paintbrush cookie cutters, too. They should come this week. Don’t tell Lenny, though. It’s a surprise.”
“Okay,” I assured her, “I won’t.”
Sonia took a sip of coffee and placed her mug in its usual spot, right above the money drawer.
“I’m going outside for a minute, Sonia,” I told her.
Sonia grinned knowingly at me. “Of course you are, mami. You go. I’ve got the desk.”
I pushed through the main door, walked under the musical bells, and started toward Trey. He was sitting at the far end of the path in a patch of sun, focused and still. I walked slowly, enjoying the heat on my back, the birdsong playing in the blue blanket of sky above me. My stomach was doing flips, but they were smaller than usual. I almost liked the way they felt.
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