The Tiny Hero of Ferny Creek Library

by Linda Bailey

  “No, you are not okay. You look ghastly!”

  So he told her the story as calmly as he could, trying to make it sound less terrible. Aunt Min made gasping sounds anyway. When he’d finished, she just stared at him, jaws open.

  “That,” she said finally, “was a horror story. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a scarier one. And yet . . . here you are, Eddie. Safe. Alive!” She touched his dirty exoskeleton as if to make sure. “Do you have any idea how scared I was?”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I should never have wandered off without telling you.”

  “You’ve got that right!” she said.

  And then, surprisingly, she laughed. “Just look at you. What a draggletailed mess!”

  He shrugged.

  “You remind me of myself when I was younger.”

  “I do?” said Eddie.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” said Min, “including the kind of reckless behavior that almost got me killed. Oh, Eddie, what if you hadn’t come back?”

  “I know,” he said. And of course, he did know because he remembered how scared he had felt, waiting for Min to return home. “I just . . . I just really wanted to see the Library.”

  Min stared into his eyes for a moment. Then she nodded.

  “I’ll be more careful from now on,” he said.

  “You darned well better!” said Min. “Now let me say one last thing. And that is—you surprise me, Eddie. No. More than that. You amaze me. How you managed to survive that ordeal with so little experience of the world . . . well, I can hardly take it in.”

  Eddie smiled. “I kind of amazed myself,” he said.

  It was true. Looking back at the things he had faced on his adventure—he was already thinking of it as the Attack of the Killer Mop—it was as if it must have happened to some other bug. Someone bigger. Braver. Then he looked down at his body, streaked gray with muck, and he knew for a fact that it had been him in that pail.

  “It helped to remember the water bugs,” he told his aunt.

  “Ah, yes,” said Min. “That was a good book.”

  “Excellent,” said Eddie. He had never imagined that the swimming habits of water bugs would turn out to be so spectacularly useful.

  “Stuart Little, too,” he added. “It helped to think about him. How he went down the drain of the sink.”

  “Books,” murmured Aunt Min. “They light the way.”

  Eddie nodded. He glanced again at his filthy exoskeleton. “Come with me, Aunt Min. I want to show you something.”

  He led her to the teacup. “See?” He pointed at the cold tea in the saucer.

  “Perfect. You need a bath.”

  Eddie shook his head. “Let’s save it for drinking. I’ll just use a bit to wash up.”

  Fortunately, there was a tissue nearby, drooping out of the huge tissue box. Eddie ripped off a shred and dipped it into the tea. Then he handed it to his aunt. She wiped his shell all over till he was back to his shiny self.

  “What color!” said Min. “How did that Cleaner miss seeing you? Needs new glasses. But me? I love your shade of green, Eddie. It reminds me of the Big Woods.”

  “Do you miss the Big Woods, Aunt Min?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said softly. “But I look at it this way. If we’d stayed in the Big Woods, I would never have learned to read. And that . . . well . . . I can’t even imagine.”

  They drank their fill of tea, then strolled back to their home in the tray. Aunt Min rocked and lurched as she walked, and Eddie tried to support her. But at some point, he realized that she was supporting him.

  Aunt Min noticed, too. “Are you all right, Eddie?”

  “Dizzy,” he said.

  “Of course you are. After all you’ve been through. You’ll feel better tomorrow, you’ll see. Everything will be better in the morning.”

  Eddie nodded and sank gratefully onto the tray.

  But when the sun rose the next day, things were not better.

  Everything, in fact, was terribly, horribly worse.

  CHAPTER

  10

  There was a clock in the Ferny Creek School Library. It hung high on the wall above the computer desks. It had a big hand and a little hand that went around and around and around.

  Eddie and Min never gave it a glance. They didn’t understand it, and they didn’t need to. Like all bugs, they had an inner sense of time that didn’t depend on the kind of clocks, watches, and calendars that you and I must rely on. So when the Librarian didn’t turn up at her usual time the next morning, they noticed.

  “She should be here by now,” said Min. “She always arrives early.”

  They waited.

  The Library waited, too. The shadows of daybreak had lifted, allowing the new books to sparkle in the morning light. The posters, feeling the sun, came cheerily to life. “READ!” they said. Even the hush in the air felt heavy—as if filled with stories waiting to be read.

  Suddenly the big school door clanged! The hallway filled with voices. First the low voices of adult Squishers. Then the higher, louder voices of children. THUD, THUD, THUD went the feet. Listening, Eddie couldn’t help remembering how, only a few days before, he had been trapped—tiny and terrorized—in the great crush of school opening. He hoped he would never have to endure that again.

  BRRRRINGGG! went the bell to start school.

  The Library stayed quiet.

  “What could be keeping her?” asked Min. “I hope she’s not sick.”

  They didn’t find out till Announcements.

  The bugs usually ignored Announcements. The Announcements, broadcast each morning through the school, were about sports teams and birthdays and report cards. Nothing of concern to a bug.

  But today Eddie and Min listened.

  “We are pleased to announce,” said the Announcements, “that Ms. Laurel from the Library had her baby last night. In fact, she had three babies! Triplet baby girls. We were expecting this news, of course, but not quite so soon. At any rate, we are happy to congratulate Ms. Laurel and her husband on these exciting new additions to their family.”

  Min stiffened, her whole body suddenly alert.

  “Ms. Laurel,” the Announcements continued, “has now gone on leave. She will be replaced in the Library by Ms. Grisch. We know you will all give Ms. Grisch a wonderful Ferny Creek welcome.”

  “Aunt Min?” said Eddie. “Are you all right?”’

  At the word Grisch, she had made a choking sound.

  When she didn’t answer, he tried again. “Who’s Ms. Grisch? Do you know her?”

  “No.” Min spoke slowly. “But I know that . . . name. I’ve heard it at meetings, here in the Library. Oh, dear. I was afraid of this.”

  “Why?” asked Eddie, alarmed now. “What’s wrong? She’s a librarian, isn’t she?”

  Min shook her head. “I don’t believe she is, or ever was. Her brother is the new superintendent of schools. From what I understand, he can hire who he wants.”

  “Is his name Grisch, too?”

  She nodded.

  “Rhymes with squish,” said Eddie. “I don’t like them already.”

  “Their name,” said Min quietly, “is the least of our problems.”

  “Oh,” said Eddie. He was nervous about his next question, but he asked it anyway. “What’s the worst of our problems?”

  “I’m not sure yet. But this is definitely not good news. Mr. Grisch doesn’t like libraries. He thinks they’re a waste of money.”

  “Aunt Min?”

  “Yes?

  “What’s money?”

  “Oh, Eddie, you don’t know?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, why would you?” said Min. “Money, my dear, is a foolish thing the Squishers have invented to make their lives more difficult. Do not try to understand it, it’s impossible. All you need to know is this—libraries need money to exist. And this new superintendent, who’s in charge of the money, does not like to give it to libraries.”

  “Aunt Min?” said Eddi
e.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t get it. Is the Library in trouble?”

  “It might be. We’ll have to wait and see.” She let out a sigh. “Try not to worry, Eddie.”

  At that, the bugs went quiet. In the background, the Announcements told about Wacky Hat Friday and a lunchtime basketball game.

  Eddie had another thought. A more hopeful one. “Maybe our Librarian will come back!” he said. “Maybe she’ll leave her grubs at home and come back here really soon.”

  Min shook her head. “Didn’t you hear? She had three babies. That’s rare for Squishers. And it makes things worse.”

  “Why?” Eddie’s mother always said—the more, the merrier.

  “It means,” said Min, “that she will fuss over them for a long time. Squisher babies, as I’ve told you, are helpless. They just lie there. Three will be more work than one.”

  “So she’s not coming back?”

  Min shook her head. “Not for ages.”

  “Oh,” said Eddie.

  There was a long silence as he tried to take this in.

  “Aunt Min?”

  “Yes?”

  “I wish you could be the new Librarian.”

  Min smiled. “What a sweet thing to say. I have often had that wish myself. I would love to be a librarian. If only I were taller.”

  For a moment both bugs allowed themselves to imagine. . . .

  “Aunt Min?” said Eddie. “Is there anything we can do?”

  She took a deep breath. “Let’s cross our fingers for luck. Oh, wait, we don’t have fingers. Let’s cross our antennae instead.”

  Eddie laughed. Both bugs crossed their antennae.

  “And don’t worry!” said Aunt Min.

  Well, of course, there’s nothing like being told not to worry to get you into the worst worry knot of your entire life. For the next few minutes, Eddie worried intensely. He worried about Min’s injuries. He worried about the vanished Librarian and her helpless grubs. And he worried about the strange, foolish, mysterious thing called money.

  And then he did a very sensible thing—

  He fell asleep.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Eddie awoke to the sound of Squishers talking. One was the Principal, whose voice was familiar from visits to Room 19. The other voice was odd and husky, somewhere between a purr and a growl.

  Rubbing his face, Eddie joined Aunt Min at their lookout spot in the tray. “Is that her? Ms. Grisch?”

  Min nodded.

  The Squishers were standing on the story-time carpet. Ms. Grisch faced the desk, allowing Eddie and Min to see her clearly.

  She was tall and thin and wore tiny metal-rimmed glasses that reflected the light. She was also surprisingly colorless. Her skin, her hair, even her clothing had a washed-out quality.

  “What a large room,” she said softly. “And so much glass.” She pointed at the skylight, then gestured at the expanse of windows.

  “Oh, yes,” said the Principal proudly. “We’re lucky to have such a library. Everyone loves looking at the forest. We watch it change through the seasons. Why it’s almost like being out—”

  “I was thinking of the cost, Mr. Steadman,” said Ms. Grisch.

  “The—what? Cost?”

  “It costs a fortune to keep a room this size heated, especially with all these windows. We have such long, cold winters, don’t we? Have you thought about the cost?”

  “Oh!” said the Principal, surprised. “Well, I hadn’t really—”

  “And yet even though it’s such a large room, it’s so . . . crowded.” Ms. Grisch moved soundlessly toward the shelves. “All these dusty old books.”

  She plucked one out and blew on it. “Who takes care of the dust, Mr. Steadman? Plenty of people are allergic to dust. Me, for instance. I certainly can’t be expected to do any dusting.”

  She held the book out for him to see.

  “No, no, of course not.” Mr. Steadman sounded a little rattled. “We have an excellent maintenance crew. Mr. Iversen cleans every evening. I will ask him to be more thorough with the dusting.”

  Taking the book from her, he put it back on the shelf where it belonged. “And actually, Ms. Grisch, they aren’t all old books. Not at all! Ms. Laurel went to great trouble to find the best new books that—”

  “Oh, you don’t have to tell me about Ms. Laurel.” Ms. Grisch waved a long, thin hand. “I know all about Ms. Laurel and her fondness for new books.”

  “You do?”

  “Oh, yes. Have you had a close look at these books, Mr. Steadman? Many of them . . . well, I don’t mean to criticize, but the word rubbish comes to mind.”

  “Rubbish?” The Principal sounded astonished.

  “See for yourself.” She pointed at the shelves. “I can already tell you. Series books, storybooks, books with nothing but pictures. Books that are actually called nonsense verse! Violent, frightening books filled with vampires and wizards. Comic books. Joke books. Magic books. Even love stories! Need I go on?”

  “Oh, dear,” said the Principal.

  “Not to mention the money that’s gone into those tablets. If the children want to use tablets, Mr. Steadman, surely their parents can purchase them at home. If, that is, they’re so foolish as to entrust expensive electronic equipment to a child.”

  “Well, I—”

  “We can do better here, I’m sure,” purred Ms. Grisch. “We can have a more . . . compact collection of books and equipment. More appropriate. I’ll be glad to weed things out.”

  “I see,” said the Principal, who didn’t seem to see at all.

  He opened his mouth to say more, but just then Ms. Grisch tripped over the story-time chair. It was only a small trip, just a stumble, and she righted herself immediately. But her reaction was huge.

  She kicked the story-time chair.

  Min gasped.

  “See what I mean?” said Ms. Grisch. “Overcrowded. How many children have tripped on this chair, Mr. Steadman?”

  “Well, er, none that I know of, but—”

  “It’s a safety hazard. We can certainly clear that out.”

  “Really? But Ms. Laurel—”

  “Ms. Laurel did her best, I am sure,” said Ms. Grisch. “But her mind was obviously on other things. Now that she’s gone, we can make some sensible changes.”

  “Changes?” The Principal looked around in confusion. “But surely that would cost—”

  “Money? Oh, Mr. Steadman, I agree. We do not want to waste money. There has been far too much money wasted here already. It’s everywhere you look. Here, for instance.”

  Striding over to the comfy couch, she kicked that, too. Not hard. But Min gasped anyway.

  “A couch?” said Ms. Grisch in the same tone of voice she might have used to say, “A rat?”

  Mr. Steadman stared at it in confusion. “Well . . . yes. A couch.”

  “Is this meant to be a living room, Mr. Steadman? I mean, what is the point of an overstuffed couch in a school? And the cushions? The stuffed animals? Are we in a bedroom?” She picked up a plush bear.

  “Well, actually, that’s Winnie-the-Pooh. He’s a puppet,” said the Principal. “Most of these . . . er . . . stuffed animals are story puppets for—”

  “I know what they are,” said Ms. Grisch. “I also know what they cost! Times are hard. Times are tough. These children might as well learn that, right from the start.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’m sure you agree they need to learn about the value of money. They also need to learn about the value of hard work. Work, Mr. Steadman! No one has ever made money by reading a book.”

  “Well, perhaps not immediately,” said the Principal. “But studies show that children who read regularly—”

  “Studies, shmuddies,” said Ms. Grisch. “If you just—”

  Suddenly she froze. Her body went stiff.

  “Stay where you are,” she hissed at the Principal.

  Moving extremely slowly, she sidled,
crablike, toward the graphic novel display. With a stealth that made her almost invisible, she reached for a book. Slowly, she raised it above her head.

  CRASH! The book came smashing down on a small table.

  “Fly,” said Ms. Grisch calmly.

  Turning the book over, she examined the cover with satisfaction. “At least, it used to be a fly.”

  “Oh!” cried Min. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Did you see that, Eddie? Did you see what that monster did?”

  “Shh, Aunt Min. She’ll hear.”

  But Ms. Grisch, having tossed the graphic novel back into its rack—with the dead fly still attached—was once again focused on Mr. Steadman. “Where were we? Oh, yes, changes.”

  The Principal, who had been pulling at his collar, took this opportunity to speak up. “Now, Ms. Grisch, I do see your point. It’s just that . . . well, our students are really very fond of this Library. Many say it’s their favorite place in the school. Ms. Laurel felt that only the most interesting—”

  “Interesting?” said Ms. Grisch. “Interesting? You’re the principal, Mr. Steadman. You should be thinking about what’s good for your students. Not what is interesting. Do you think I ever did anything interesting as a child?”

  “Well . . . er . . . I couldn’t say,” said the Principal. “Perhaps not?”

  “Never!” said Ms. Grisch. “My parents knew what was good for me. Drills, Mr. Steadman. They drilled my brother and me—yes, every day. Multiplication tables, spelling, capital cities. And look at us now.”

  “Oh, indeed,” said the Principal. “Indeed.”

  “Well, then, good.” Ms. Grisch clasped her hands together tightly and rocked slightly on her heels. “Excellent. We understand each other.”

  The Principal didn’t have much hair, but what he did have was standing up oddly on his head. “I don’t quite . . . well, let me say . . . anyway, welcome to Ferny Creek Elementary, Ms. Grisch. It’s good of you to come at short notice.”

  “My pleasure,” said Ms. Grisch. “My brother asked me weeks ago.”

  “He did? Oh. Well. I suppose . . . yes, of course.”

  The Library door went KA-BANG as Ms. Grisch and Mr. Steadman left the room.

  It was a full minute before Eddie or Min could speak.