As treasurer, Stacey is responsible for collecting club dues and keeping track of our money. She’s great at math, so she enjoys the job. None of us really likes paying dues, but the treasury is important. Without it, we wouldn’t be able to help cover Claudia’s phone bill, or pay Kristy’s brother to drive her to meetings, or buy supplies for our Kid-Kits. We also wouldn’t be able to have pizza-and-ice-cream parties, and I know we’d miss those.
I’m the club secretary. The record book is my responsibility, which means I have to know everybody’s schedule and figure out who’s free for what job. I also keep records on all our clients: names, addresses, emergency numbers, allergies, stuff like that. I love being secretary. To me, there’s something very satisfying about keeping a nice, neat notebook. Dawn’s always telling me that my dad and I are “neat freaks,” and I guess we are.
When Dawn’s not in California, she’s the club’s alternate officer. The alternate officer covers for any other officer who can’t make a meeting. While Dawn’s away, Shannon Kilbourne is taking care of that job. Shannon is usually what we call an associate member, which means she doesn’t come to meetings but only helps out when we need extra sitters. Fortunately for us, she’s agreed to become a full-fledged member until Dawn returns, so she does attend our meetings these days.
Shannon lives in Kristy’s new neighborhood. She has thick, curly blonde hair, and sparkling blue eyes. She goes to private school instead of SMS, so only Kristy knew her well before Dawn left. I, for one, am happy to know Shannon better. She’s really smart, and she’s fun to be with. Shannon has two little sisters, Tiffany and Maria, so she’s used to kids. She’s a terrific sitter.
Now that Shannon is a regular member, we have only one associate member. That’s Logan. He hardly ever comes to meetings, partly because he’s an associate and partly because of team practices, but also because he’s not exactly comfortable being the only boy in a small room with seven girls. Who can blame him?
I’ve already mentioned Mallory Pike, one of our two junior members. The other is Jessi Ramsey, Mal’s best friend. I have a feeling that these days Jessi misses Mal as much as I miss Dawn. They’re really close.
As junior officers, Jessi and Mal are only allowed to sit on afternoons and weekends, unless they’re sitting for their own families. Mal, when she’s well, usually has a lot of opportunities to sit for her own sisters and brothers, because she has seven! Adam, Byron, and Jordan are identical triplets; after them come Vanessa, Nicky, Margo, and Claire. The Pike kids can be a handful, but they’re also fun.
Mallory and Jessi have a lot in common. They both love horses, they both love to read, and they’re both very sure about what they want to be when they’re older. Jessi intends to be a ballerina — and she’s already well on her way, taking classes at a professional ballet school. Mal’s going to write and illustrate children’s books. She’s probably spending a lot of her time thinking up plots these days, since she can’t do much else.
As for looks, well, Mal has red hair, freckles, glasses, and braces. She’s cute, but she sure doesn’t think so. She can’t wait till her parents let her get contacts and her braces come off.
Jessi is African-American, with cocoa-colored skin and the long, long legs of a dancer. She has a little sister named Becca and a baby brother known as Squirt. (His real name is John Philip.) Jessi’s aunt Cecelia lives with the family, to help out while Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey are at work.
So, that’s the BSC. Sounds great, doesn’t it? It is. I think I’d go crazy without it these days. By the time Kristy called the meeting to order — at precisely five-thirty — I’d already forgotten about the chilly, gray day and how lonely and bored I was. Stacey collected dues, since it was a Monday (that’s dues day every week), and then we talked for a while about one of our favorite clients, Jamie Newton. We skipped from Jamie to this scary movie we’d seen on TV the night before, and from the movie to a new kind of blush Claudia wanted us to try out. In between all the talking, the phone rang pretty steadily, and we lined up job after job.
At five to six, as the meeting was ending, we heard a knock on the door. “May I come in?” asked Mrs. Kishi, peeking into the room. “I’m here on official business.” She smiled.
“Well, in that case,” said Kristy, smiling back, “come on in!”
Mrs. Kishi squeezed in next to Claudia, who was sitting on the bed. “I don’t know if you can help me,” she began, smoothing her gray wool skirt. “You may be too busy to take this on. But I am desperate for some help in the children’s room at the library. We’re having a Readathon to raise money to buy new books, and the place is going to be overrun with kids for the next couple of weeks. We need a volunteer in the afternoons, after school, and also on weekends. My staff is terrific, but they’ll never be able to work with all the kids who have signed up.”
I barely waited for her to finish speaking. “I’ll help!” I said, the second she was done. This sounded like the perfect job for me. I love books, I love spending time in libraries, and I love kids. This job would be something new and different, just what I needed to get rid of my blues. Working at the library would be a zillion times better than watching old movies and crying all afternoon!
The meeting ended soon after that, but I stayed in Claudia’s room, arranging a schedule with Mrs. Kishi. I would be working in the children’s room a few afternoons a week, depending on which days they needed me most, and also on Saturdays and Sundays. The only bad thing about the Readathon, as far as I was concerned, was that it didn’t begin that very minute. I could hardly wait to get started.
Even though I couldn’t start my new job right away, my blues were already gone. Having something to look forward to made all the difference. On Monday, a week after Mrs. Kishi had first asked for help, I reported to the children’s librarian after school. Her name is Ms. Feld. She’s the most energetic woman I’ve ever seen; she always seems to be in three places at once, doing five different things.
“Hand me that registration form, would you, Mary Anne?” she asked, after I had introduced myself. “Billy, please don’t tear the heads off the puppets,” she called to a boy playing in the puppet theatre behind her. “Miss Ellway, I think Jonathan needs some help signing out those books,” she added, gesturing toward a little boy who was waiting at the main desk. She gathered up a pile of books, stuck a tape dispenser under one arm, and put the registration form I’d handed her in her mouth. “Thish way,” she said, between clenched teeth, “we can talk over here.” She led me to the office area of the children’s room, which consisted of a few desks shoved together to make space for processing new books, repairing old ones, and doing all the other work that keeps a library running.
Maybe I should describe the children’s room. It’s on the first floor of the Stoneybrook Library. There are a lot of windows, so it’s bright and sunny. Along with loads of wonderful books, the rooms (there are two of them) are full of cozy little nooks and crannies where kids can curl up and read. There are some tables for homework or other projects, and lots of colorful posters are on the walls: illustrations from favorite children’s books, mostly. The puppet theatre, which is painted bright blue and has yellow curtains, stands in one corner. A giant Raggedy Ann doll, big enough for a child to lie on or just snuggle with, sits in another. The main room is where the fiction is shelved. That’s also where the office area is, and the main desk. A smaller room holds the card catalog and the nonfiction.
I feel at home in the children’s room, even though it’s fairly new (they kept the children’s books upstairs when I was little). I guess something about the way a library looks and smells makes me feel comfortable and happy. Sometimes, I think I could just curl up with the big Raggedy Ann doll and spend days and days re-reading my favorite kids’ books. I’d start with Charlotte’s Web, and then I would read Little Women and its sequels, and Little House in the Big Woods and its sequels. After that — well, you get the idea.
“So!” said Ms. Feld, dumping her armloa
d of books on a desktop that was already full of books, papers, and library supplies. “I’m delighted you could help us out, Mary Anne. I only have a few minutes to explain the Readathon to you, but I’m sure you’ll understand. And you can always check with Miss Ellway if you have questions. She just started working here a couple of weeks ago, but she knows her way around. And she’s been helping me get ready for the Readathon, so she knows all about the program.”
I glanced over at Miss Ellway. I didn’t want to have much to do with her if I could help it. I know I shouldn’t judge people quickly, but my first impression of her (formed in about two seconds) was not a good one. For one thing, she looked unfriendly. She was tall and thin, with straight thin lips and straight thin gray hair and a thin, pointy nose. For another thing, she acted unfriendly. When Ms. Feld had asked her to help the boy sign out his books, she had sighed with exasperation, as if she were too busy with important things, and turned to the boy with a frown. “Where’s your card?” she had asked him brusquely.
I looked back at Ms. Feld. She seemed so pleasant compared to Miss Ellway. Her curly brown hair looked a little messy, as if she’d forgotten to comb it that morning, and her sweater was missing a button. But when she smiled, the details didn’t matter. Her green eyes lit up, and you could tell she loved her job and everything about it, even if it did keep her on the run all day, every day.
She smiled at me now, and I smiled back. Then she handed me the registration form she had carried in her teeth. “Why don’t you look this over while I explain how the program works?” she said. “And while I explain, I’m just going to process a few of these books, if you don’t mind. We’re so far behind it’s not funny.” She began to paste pockets into the new books, stamp them with the library’s name, and cover them with plastic that would keep them looking fresh. Her hands never stopped moving as she told me about the Readathon.
“Okay, here’s how it works,” she said. “The kids who want to participate fill out that form, which tells us who they are, what grade they’re in, and how many books they plan to read during the weeks the Readathon is in progress. They sign up sponsors, who agree to pay them a certain amount for every book they read. We’ve made up a reading list for each level, so a third-grade kid would be reading from the third-grade reading list.”
I nodded. It seemed simple so far.
“Each time a child finishes a book, he or she tells one of the staff members, and is given a brief quiz — just a few questions — to make sure he really did read the book. Then he receives a little certificate for each book read.” She poked through a pile of papers on her desk and pulled out a certificate to show me. “At the end of the Readathon, the sponsors pay the kids according to how many certificates they’ve earned. The money goes toward our book budget, which can certainly use some help.”
“Isn’t there something about prizes, too?” I asked. I had seen a notice about the Readathon in the newspaper.
“Right,” she said. “I almost forgot about that. At the end of the Readathon, we’ll award a prize to the kid in each grade who’s read the most books. The prizes will be things like ice cream sundaes, pizzas, and gift certificates, all donated by local merchants.”
“It sounds great,” I said.
“I think it’ll be fun. But it’s going to involve plenty of work. A lot of kids are going to be participating. It’s so cold and gray these days, and they need something fun to do.”
I could relate.
“So!” said Ms. Feld, slapping the last, finished book on the pile. I couldn’t believe how fast she had worked, especially since she had been talking to me the whole time. She stood up. “Ready to get started?”
“Definitely,” I replied. I followed her back to the main desk, and she introduced me to Miss Ellway.
“Mary Anne’s going to be helping out with the Readathon,” she said. “I told her to come to you with any questions, but I don’t think she’ll have too many.”
Miss Ellway looked me up and down. “I suppose I’ll have to show her how to use the card catalog,” she said in a weary voice.
“That’s okay, I know how,” I spoke up quickly, trying not to sound annoyed. I mean, for one thing, I’ve known how to use the card catalog since I was about eight years old. And for another thing, I’m not crazy about being referred to as “her.”
Ms. Feld gave me a comforting smile. “Of course you do,” she said. “But you know what? I see somebody over there who doesn’t.” She winked at me and nudged me toward the card catalog. It was time to start my new job.
As I walked closer to the girl standing at the card catalog, I realized I knew her. “Hi, Corrie,” I said. “Need some help?” Corrie Addison, who’s nine, is one of the kids the BSC sits for. I had a feeling I’d be seeing a lot of our clients in the children’s room.
“Hi, Mary Anne,” she said. “I’m trying to find a book about mummies. The Readathon list says I can read up to ten nonfiction books on any subject I’m interested in.”
I jumped into my new role. “Okay,” I said. “Here’s how we can do that.” I located a particular drawer, pulled it open, and leafed through the cards until I found what we were looking for. “Here we go,” I said. “There are four books listed here. Take a piece of scrap paper and write down these numbers. Then we’ll see if the books are on the shelf, and you can decide which one you want.”
For the next hour or so, I was very, very busy. I helped kids find books, passed out reading lists, offered suggestions about which books to start with, and helped kids fill out registration forms. There were, as I had guessed, a lot of BSC clients at the library. Corrie’s ten-year-old brother, Sean, was there, and so was Betsy Sobak, who’s eight. Norman and Sarah Hill were also there. I saw the Hobart brothers and Haley Braddock.
Several Pike kids were there, of course: Nicky, Jordan, Byron, and Vanessa were busy picking out books. Actually, Jordan and Nicky were busier acting out a puppet show that had something to do with a gorilla that eats a town, and Vanessa was sitting in a corner with a poetry book (she plans to be a poet when she’s older), but Byron was stacking up a bunch of books about reptiles. He adores snakes and other slithery things. “I can’t wait to read these,” he said. “It’s so cool that I get certificates for something I want to do anyway!”
I was glad to see that Byron was excited about the Readathon, especially after I heard a few kids, including Nicky and Sean, complaining that their parents or teachers had pushed them into participating. I thought that was a shame. Kids should see reading as something fun, not as something they have to do.
I worked hard that afternoon, so hard I almost forgot about the BSC meeting until I glanced at my watch and realized I’d be late if I didn’t run for it. What a change from the Monday before, when I had been watching the clock all afternoon, waiting for the meeting to start! I called a quick good-bye to Ms. Feld and Miss Ellway, and dashed out the door.
I arrived at the meeting in time, but I have to say I didn’t pay much attention to anything that went on that day. I was too busy wondering what book might interest Sean Addison in reading and trying to remember whether Nicky had signed his registration form. I was already wrapped up in my new job.
I did tune in when Mrs. Wilder called, looking for someone to help Rosie with the Readathon. Rosie Wilder is a very busy seven-year-old: Besides acting in commercials, she takes about eighteen different kinds of lessons — dancing and acting and singing and violin. Actually, she takes fewer lessons now than she used to; her parents decided not long ago that she was a little overloaded. But apparently now her parents had decided she could participate in the Readathon. However, they realized she’d need help signing up sponsors and so forth. They also wanted a sitter to take her to the library periodically, since they have such busy schedules. Kristy volunteered for the job, and she was the only one free, so she got it. We smiled at each other after she called Mrs. Wilder back. “This’ll be great,” I said. “I mean, working at the library is fun anyway, but having
you there will make it even better.”
Blues? What blues? I could hardly even remember why I had been feeling down the week before. The Readathon had cured me completely.
“Protect the children!”
“No more filth!”
As I headed toward the library on Wednesday afternoon, I passed a small but very loud group of demonstrators. They stood on the library lawn, near the front entrance. Most of them were carrying signs which said things such as “What about family values?” and “Don’t poison our children’s minds!” As people walked to and from the library, the demonstrators shouted out their slogans.
I remembered the letter to the editor of the Stoneybrook News about book banning, and figured it must have been sent by this group. I hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time, but now I could hardly ignore what they were saying.
I have never understood why people want to ban books. I mean, if they don’t want to read certain books, that’s fine. And I guess what they let their own children read is up to them, too. But why should they keep other people from reading what they choose? My dad has never stopped me from reading anything I wanted to, and I don’t feel that my mind has been poisoned. True, some books have bad words in them, but so what? It isn’t as though I would never hear those words anywhere else. And reading those books doesn’t make me want to use the words myself. As for books that are about subjects such as divorce or drugs, well, those things exist in the world, and books aren’t the cause.
I remember our school librarian once talked to us about books that have been banned from schools and libraries in this country. Some really terrific books are among them: To Kill a Mockingbird, The Diary of Anne Frank, and The Outsiders, to name a few. Some people think they’re dangerous. For instance, The Outsiders was banned partly because a lot of the characters in the book came from “broken homes.” Well, I have a lot of friends from “broken homes” — Kristy, Dawn, and Stacey, for example — and they’re all good people. Good people who might really learn something from reading about other kids whose parents are divorced.
Mary Anne and the Library Mystery Page 2
