The Fantastic Library Rescue and Other Major Plot Twists

by Deborah Lytton

  So Burger Night here isn’t traditional. Our choices for this evening are veggie burgers, lettuce wraps for the no-bread customers, and double beef burgers for the serious meat eater. (That would be my brother Sam.) There is also a platter of french fries. My favorite thing though is the bowl of pickles. I’d eat a plate of pickles if Mom would let me. She wouldn’t.

  Sam and Connor and I are sitting in our usual chairs. Abe has assumed his favorite mealtime position right underneath the table. That’s in case anyone drops something scrumptious.

  Sam and Connor are only two years apart, but they couldn’t be more different. The best way to explain it is this: if Sam had to choose something to take with him to a deserted island, he would choose a basketball. And Connor would choose a microscope. I bet you can guess what I would choose. Hint: it begins with a B. Mom is just setting the salad on the table when Abe starts whimpering and runs to the door. Then he sits there wagging his tail.

  I know what that means. “Dad’s home,” I announce.

  The door opens, and voilà, there is my dad. Abe starts jumping up on him like he’s been gone for weeks, but he’s only been at work since breakfast time. Grandpa told me once that dogs don’t understand time the way we do. So maybe Abe thinks hours are days or months even.

  “Bonsoir, ma famille,” Dad says as he comes through the door. He’s studying French, and he practices on us. I’m starting to learn what some of the words mean. I’m pretty sure “Bonsoir, ma famille” means “Good evening, my family.”

  “You’re just in time,” Mom says with a smile.

  I run over and give him a hug. Dad drops a kiss on my head. “How was your book club today?”

  “Good until the boys started their food fight at the other end. I actually got hit with a half-eaten piece of salami.” I scrunch my face at the memory.

  “Très désagréable,” Dad says as he hugs me again. Then he heads to the sink to wash his hands.

  “Translation, please?” Connor asks.

  “Very unpleasant,” Dad calls over his shoulder.

  I hurry back to the table. Mom is serving the salad. It’s a rainbow of veggies with yellow bell peppers, red cherry tomatoes, shredded carrots, sliced celery, cucumber, and dark-green lettuce. Sam chopped them all up like the chefs on television. For a fifteen-year-old, he’s pretty impressive in the kitchen. I helped peel the carrots, and I have to say that they are especially delicious tonight.

  “I’m starving,” Sam says as he makes a double burger for himself.

  “We know,” Connor answers. Everyone laughs at that because Sam is always hungry.

  Sometimes after his football games, he eats an entire carton of eggs and drinks a whole quart of milk!

  I choose a veggie burger and pile it with seven pickles. Then I stack few extras on the side of my plate, just in case.

  “Have I mentioned that I love pickles?” I tell my family.

  “We know,” Connor answers again. Everyone laughs because of course my family already knows this. They know everything about me.

  Mom laughs the most because every time we are at the grocery store, I add a jar of pickles to the shopping cart. I love Mom’s laugh. She has the kind of laugh that makes anyone who hears it smile. It isn’t one of those funny laughs that are super-squeaky or booming. It’s a rainbow-across-a-cloudy-sky laugh.

  I imagine skateboarding on the rainbow of Mom’s laugh. My skateboard is gold with green wheels that flash pink when they spin. I jump on my board at the giant bend on the top of the rainbow and zigzag across red to jump over orange and land on yellow. Then I slide over to green. My brothers and my dad are riding their own skateboards. We’re all gliding along until Abe whooshes past us on a dog-size skateboard. We hurry to catch up. The end of the rainbow is a garden made entirely of books.

  Dad says, “Ruby, what are you reading for your next book club?”

  Hey, wait a second. I’m not in a garden of books. I’m still at the dinner table with my family, and Abe is still making the most out of his spot underneath the table.

  I look around to see everyone waiting on my answer. “Well, I don’t exactly know yet,” I say. And with a deep breath, I tell my family the whole story about the search for The Misfit Girls.

  My story ends with: “So now I have to go to school tomorrow and tell the Unicorns and the Macarons that I don’t have the books.”

  “Your friends will understand,” Connor offers.

  “It’s not your fault,” Sam adds. “You tried your best.”

  That’s one of the Starr Family Rules: Always try your best.

  Mom and Dad aren’t like some parents who expect straight A’s all the time. (Only Connor gets A’s all the time anyway.) They tell me and Sam and Connor to do our best no matter what. As long as we have given something our full attention and best effort, they are proud of us.

  “At first, I thought maybe we could go to the bookstore,” I admit. “But then I realized that buying eight copies of a book would be kind of expensive. Gram helped me figure that out. Plus, I didn’t even really want to read it, so I don’t think it would be right to ask you to buy it for everyone in the group. So I came up with a Plan C.”

  “Plan C?” Dad asks as he hands me the ketchup.

  “To have a meeting and choose another book.” I make a star shape on the side of my plate and then dip a french fry into the star. Yum.

  “Have you ever noticed when my book club chooses the next book?” Mom asks as she fills my water glass.

  It’s not polite to speak when your mouth is full, so I shake my head no.

  “We don’t wait until we finish discussing a book. We choose when we are one or two meetings away from finishing. That way, we all have time to get the next book.”

  Oh. Well, that makes sense. Except that we didn’t exactly plan this reading together thing. It just sort of happened.

  “I do the same thing at work,” Dad says with a grin. He and Connor have matching smiles. “I choose the new story before I finish the current story. So we don’t lose time figuring out what to do next.”

  Dad is a writer for the local morning news. His pieces are always about ordinary people doing interesting things in our community. Someday I’m going to be a writer too. Only I am going to write books for readers like me. I’ll be Ruby J. Starr, author extraordinaire.

  “That’s how it is with chess,” Connor adds. “I am always thinking at least two moves ahead. How do you think I beat Sam every time?”

  “Hey!” Sam argues. “Not every time.”

  “Admit it. I win every time,” Connor teases. “I’m just that good.”

  He’s right. No one can beat Connor at chess. Not even Dad.

  “I challenge you to a match after dinner.” Sam doesn’t give up easily.

  “Challenge accepted.” Connor winks at me. I grin back. I’m looking forward to watching them play. Maybe I can even play a game with the winner (who will probably be Connor).

  After that, we take turns telling more stories about our days until all the french fries are gone and the pickle bowl has made its way around the table to me again.

  • • •

  The next morning, when I arrive at school, Siri runs up to me first. Her hair is braided in two fishtail braids. Fishtail braids are supercool and easy to do. Here’s a quick lesson:

  1. Put the hair into two ponytails.

  2. Split one ponytail into two sides.

  3. Bring one small piece of hair across from one side to the other. Hold tight.

  4. Reverse and bring one small piece of hair from the other side back to the first side.

  5. Keep going back and forth until the ponytail is finished. Secure with a hair elastic.

  6. Do the other ponytail the same way.

  7. Ta-da! That’s the fishtail braid.

  I imagine myself and Siri as mermai
ds sitting in seashell chairs at the underwater hair salon. Little butterfly fish are braiding our hair. They swim back and forth and back and forth. Next to us, a crab is having her claws painted hot pink by an octopus, and a manta ray is getting her makeup done by the very same octopus. He does have eight arms after all. Siri hugs me and asks: “Did you get the books from the library?”

  Hold on, I’m not a mermaid. I’m here at school. And whether I like it or not, I have to admit to my friend that I failed.

  Correction: friends. Because by then, Jessica, Daisy, and Charlotte are also there. I shake my head.

  “The library only had one copy. We can put our names on a waiting list, but I have no idea how long it will take to get enough copies.”

  I expect to see disappointment on the Unicorn’s faces. What I don’t expect is this:

  Daisy hugs me.

  Jessica shrugs and says, “Thanks for trying anyway.”

  Siri throws an arm around my shoulders. “You’re still our hero.”

  Charlotte nods. “We can pick another book.”

  That’s the amazing thing about best friends. They like you no matter what.

  I think this day can’t get any better.

  Only it does. Because when we arrive in the classroom, Mrs. Sablinsky tells us that the fifth-grade teachers have a meeting at the district office. Since we don’t have substitutes, all fifth graders are going to the library. Can you believe it?

  So that’s how the Unicorns and the Macarons have a mini book club meeting on a Wednesday. We sit together at one of the back tables and talk about books. It’s a dream day, really and truly.

  I take notes on the ideas. The trouble is that out of eight girls, there isn’t one match. We all suggest different titles. Here are my notes:

  • Ruby: Robin Hood

  • Jessica: The Clue in the Diary (Nancy Drew, Book 7)

  • Siri: Any Harry Potter (but not the first one)

  • Charissa: Something brand new

  • Daisy: A horse story

  • Brooke: Any book that isn’t more than 150 pages

  • Sophie: A young adult book like Twilight

  I hold up the list dramatically like I am announcing the winner of an Academy Award for best actress. Except there is no winner.

  “Since we all have different ideas, we’re going to have to decide which of these books to read first. Then each week we can read another one on the list until everyone has had their chance. The only problem is that my mom doesn’t let me read young adult books.” I look over at Sophie. “Do you want to make another choice?”

  Here’s the thing. I know a few girls in my grade who have older sisters. They talk about young adult books. I asked Mom about it once, and she told me I can read young adult books when I am twelve or thirteen. That’s almost two years from now. (Important fact about me: My birthday is August 3. I’m a Leo.)

  “I can’t read young adult books either,” Jessica admits.

  Charlotte pipes up. “My grandmother would not be happy about it. At all.”

  Sophie shrugs. “Then make my choice the same as Brooke’s. Not more than 150 pages.”

  I look over the list again. I know my friends have been really supportive about the failed library mission, but I can’t stop thinking about it. That’s when I get an idea. It’s funny how something going wrong can help something else go right.

  “I just realized something.” All seven girls turn to look at me at once. “Maybe we should look for all of these books and choose whichever one has extra copies.”

  If we agree on a book and then can’t find it again, we’ll be back to the same problem: no book club book to read. This way, we will have a book for sure.

  We split into groups of two. Each team looks for both of their titles. I am paired with Jessica, and we decide to try for her book first. Mrs. Xia keeps the fiction shelves organized in alphabetical order beginning with the first letter of the author’s last name. We’re searching for Keene, Carolyn.

  “My dad told me that Carolyn Keene is actually a pseudonym,” I share with Jessica. “The real author of the Nancy Drew mysteries was a ghostwriter named Mildred Wirt Benson.” I love interesting book facts.

  Jessica grins at me. “Wow, that’s like a mystery all on its own.”

  We are at the K’s when we run into Will P and his friend Bryden. One thing to know about Will P: he has a signature sock collection that is school famous. Because of that, he lives in shorts year-round so that his socks are always on display. (I’m serious. Even when it is raining out, Will P wears shorts.) Today, he is featuring gray socks with Mickey Mouse faces all over them.

  “Hi, Ruby, are you looking for something for book club?” Will P asks as he pushes his red glasses higher on his nose. His brown hair swoops over the glasses and to the side.

  “We’re trying to find at least a few copies of a book that we all want to read. We’re combining two groups this time so there are eight of us.”

  Will P’s blue eyes get wide behind his glasses. “And I thought it was hard to find four copies.” Will P is in a book club called the Polar Bears. Sometimes I read books with them.

  Bryden rolls his eyes. “The library only has old books anyway.”

  Bryden is not one of my favorite people since he’s usually the number one food fighter. But I have to agree with him.

  “I think it’s sort of a secret, but Mrs. Xia said they have had some budget cuts. She can’t buy any new books right now,” I explain. I spot the Nancy Drew novels. I don’t have to look for Keene. I can find them by the bright-yellow spines. “There they are.” I point them out to Jessica. “On the next-to-bottom row.”

  Jessica and I look over the titles. Book seven is there.

  “Only one copy,” she says quietly. I would have liked to read this book as a group (even though I have already read it twice).

  “Let’s try Robin Hood now,” she suggests.

  Will P and Bryden are still standing there. They look a bit clueless, if you ask me. I, however, am a library expert. I’m what you might call a junior librarian because sometimes I help Mrs. Xia reshelve books.

  “What book are you looking for?” I ask in my junior librarian voice, which is really no different from my regular voice.

  Will P grins at me. “We wanted to read the new Kingdom Keepers.” I know that series. I haven’t read it yet, but it’s on my wish list. Will P’s book selections are always good ones. “Except the library doesn’t have it. So we’re doing the same thing. Looking for something with four copies.”

  “I’m sorry we are so limited,” Mrs. Xia says as she overhears us talking. “It may be awhile before we can purchase new titles or extra copies to help those of you with book clubs. I hope it doesn’t discourage you from reading as a group.”

  “It won’t,” I assure her. Will says the same thing. Only I wonder if he’s thinking what I am thinking: how long can we keep our book clubs together if it’s so hard to find books? The thought hurts my heart.

  Chapter 4

  A Poet I Am Not

  Mrs. Sablinsky is back before lunch. She gives us a pop quiz on the poems we read in class yesterday. (Since I was listening, this is easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.) When we finish, we can work on a word search until the bell rings. I look through the box on the back table to find one I haven’t done before. Magic hat, check. Flower, check. Rainbow, check. I guess I could do the rainbow one again. Wait, here’s one I haven’t seen before. It’s the American flag.

  Guess what? I find all the words. (Hint: there are ten terms to find.)

  At lunch, my friends and I share our clues from the library search. (OK, I know it’s not really a mystery, but every story needs a little sleuthing.) I update my list just to keep track. So far, here is what we know about available books:

  • Ruby: Robin Hood—two copies but different versions
of the story

  • Jessica: The Clue in the Diary (Nancy Drew, Book 7)—only one copy

  • Siri: Any Harry Potter (but not the first one)—three copies of Book 1, two copies of Book 3

  • Charissa: Something brand new—none

  • Daisy: A horse story—only picture books and nonfiction books available

  • Brooke: Any book that isn’t more than 150 pages—nothing with eight copies

  • Sophie: A young adult book like Twilight Any book that isn’t more than 150 pages—nothing with eight copies

  “Our best choice would be Harry Potter, Book Three,” I tell the group. “We would be starting with two copies.”

  “I haven’t read Book Two yet,” Daisy says. “I kinda don’t want to skip.”

  “Same here,” agrees Charissa.

  It’s true that the best way to read a series is in order. But even though I understand Daisy and Charissa not wanting to read Book Three, that leaves us with exactly zero options. I munch on a carrot and try to come up with a Plan D. There has to be something we can all read.

  I am on my way to a magical city of books where I can find as many copies as I wish. Only first I have to cross the Bridge of Courage. It is made of tiny planks of wood held together by golden vines. I step onto the first plank, and it moves underneath my feet. Below, I can see a deep canyon with no end. “Who goes there?” calls out a big, booming voice. It is the Troll of the Bridge of Courage. He is hidden underneath the bridge. Even though I can’t see him, I can hear him. “You must pay for your crossing with a poem,” he tells me. “Do you have one?” I don’t have a poem. Not yet, anyway. I sit down crisscross applesauce to think.

  I am sitting crisscross applesauce on the lunch bench. But there isn’t a troll in sight.

  “We can try the library again,” Daisy suggests.

  “Maybe we can ask Mrs. Sablinsky,” Charlotte offers. Charlotte just moved here last month, and she doesn’t know Mrs. S as well as I know her. Also, I think Mrs. Sablinsky likes her. Not as much as she likes Will P, but more than she likes me. In my experience, when you think a teacher likes you, it makes you go to them for help, even for the non-school kind of help.