Property of the Rebel Librarian

by Allison Varnes

  “June,” he says again. “What are you reading?”

  There are a million things I could do right now. I could run. I could lie. I could make excuses. But I do none of these things. I hold up the book and wait for his response.

  “I see. And who approved it?”

  “No one.”

  He sighs. “Then I have to write it up. I’ve also got to confiscate the book.”

  I hand it over, panic blooming in my heart. A write-up? Me? I can’t believe this is happening. I knew reading was against the rules, but that’s why I came out here to do it.

  And now I’ll never know if the horse comes back.

  I don’t bother going to the cafeteria after that. I’m not really in the mood to see Emma and definitely not Graham, so I just wait in the classroom for Honors English to start. I tap my pencil against my desk. What will my parents say when they find out what I’ve done? I feel sick to my stomach. Midway through examples of hyperbole, the classroom phone rings.

  “Yes?” Ms. Gibson says. She listens for a moment. “I’ll send her right up.” She places the phone on the receiver and looks at me funny, her black skin creasing with concern around her eyes. “June, Mr. Beeler needs to see you.”

  My stomach drops and my heart starts racing. My first trip to the principal’s office. Ever. Everyone stares while I gather my things with shaking hands.

  The ladies in the front office frown as I slip past their desks, and so does Mr. Beeler. “Please sit down,” he says. I settle into the stained fabric chair in front of Mr. Beeler’s desk. He takes a long sip out of his coffee mug. There’s a cartoon fish on the front of it that says GET HOOKED. His eyes bore holes into me, so I stare at the walls and try not to squirm. A rainbow trout hangs in a frame behind him. Next to it there’s a photo of Mr. Beeler, his face and hair gleaming white in the sun, holding a fishnet by a shoreline. Clearly, he likes catching things.

  I don’t belong here.

  “Now, Ms. Harper, as you know, we set clear rules this morning. If you are caught with an unapproved book, there will be consequences.” He crosses his arms and peers up at me from behind his bifocals. I make no effort to speak because I’m afraid I’ll cry. I’m not sure my voice would sound as brave as I want it to. And I can’t apologize for reading. He can do whatever he wants. “You will attend detention after school today.”

  Except that. “But I have band practice!”

  “Not today, you don’t. Here,” he says, handing me a red reflective vest. “You’ll need this.”

  “For what?”

  “School beautification. Congratulations, Ms. Harper. You just joined today’s litter crew.” The bell rings. He double-clicks his pen and frowns. “Now if I were you, I’d be on my best behavior. You’d better get to class.”

  * * *

  I’m so busy fuming after school ends that Graham manages to corner me.

  “June.”

  I put my flute in its case, pick up my bag, and start for the door.

  He blocks my path. “Please. Let me explain.”

  “I’d rather not right now.” My face says everything that needs to be said.

  He takes a step toward me and holds out a dandelion. “June, I’m sorry I helped clean out the library. But I didn’t have a choice. My mom insisted because she said it would be good for me.”

  Graham has a point. I don’t think anyone has ever said no to his mom and lived.

  He touches my arm. “I really am sorry. Talk to me. Please.”

  He’s going to find out anyway. I had to tell my section and Mr. Ryman during band class, so it’s just a matter of time before word gets around. “I have detention, okay?”

  “For what?”

  I look him square in the eye. “What do you think?”

  He gapes at me. “Where did you get…you-know-what?”

  Like I’d tell him anything after what he did. I don’t have time for this.

  Graham takes a measured breath. “I have no right to ask you this. I know that. But”—he scuffs his shoe against the floor—“I like you, June. A lot. And I want to hang out with you outside of school.”

  “I’m not allowed to date.”

  He grins. “You’re not allowed to date yet, but you could be. Maybe if you stopped getting into trouble, your parents would be happy for you to spend time with someone”—he clears his throat—“older and wiser. They could meet me.”

  He really doesn’t get it.

  “Maybe you could stop reading those books for a little while.”

  Those books?

  He quickly adds, “If you want, I mean…I just thought maybe we could, I don’t know—” I smile before I realize what I’m doing. For the first time ever, Graham seems nervous.

  But he still helped clean out the library, so I shrug. “I have to go.”

  “June,” he says, reaching for my hand. “You need me around.”

  My stomach does that annoying flip and I pull my hand away. “Why? So you can help my parents throw out my books?”

  He smiles and places the flower in my hand. “No. So I can catch you when you fall. I’m good at that, remember?”

  I hurry out of the room and make it to detention just in time for Mr. Hawkins to check my name on the clipboard. One more minute, and I would’ve had it for tomorrow, too. There are a few other kids here. Some eighth-grade guy who keeps skipping class, and a sixth grader who I’m pretty sure is a thief. I drop my backpack into a seat near the front, away from his sticky fingers. Just in case.

  The sound of the band warming up is muffled through the windows. I look down at my dandelion and imagine Graham marching with the trumpets. That’s the guy I know. Not the one who throws out books.

  “Okay, vests on!” Mr. Hawkins snaps me back to reality. “Everyone take a pair of gloves and a trash bag. Let’s go!”

  When we step outside the building, there are still kids waiting for rides. The band’s warm-up tones change over to the Jaws theme.

  “June, you’re responsible for the bushes here at the front.”

  There are moving trucks parked by the door. I work slowly, stuffing empty cans and bottles into the trash. I wipe my forehead with my sleeve and catch a sixth grader on a bench staring. He looks away. My face grows hotter as more and more people stare.

  Not being allowed to date could be the least of my problems. My friends’ parents will probably think I’m a bad influence. That’s what my parents would say if Emma had gotten busted today instead of me. And it would be forever before I’d be able to hang out with her again. I glance toward the band. I forgave Emma. Maybe I could give Graham another chance, too. It’s not like any of this was his idea. But then, his parents might not let him date me. I force back a snicker. I’m a seventh-grade nobody who’s never gotten in trouble a day in my life, and all of a sudden, I’m bad news.

  The door opens. Parent after parent wheels a cartful of books out the front door and toward the moving trucks. It’s the ultimate punishment. Nothing would bother me more than seeing Ms. Bradshaw’s books disappear. Nothing.

  After detention finally ends, I trudge back to my locker to swap out my English book for social studies homework. Between Mr. Beeler’s office and talking to Graham, I didn’t have time earlier. Nothing about today is right, but that seems to be the trend this month. I slam my locker shut before I even realize what I’ve done. The impact pops open the locker next to mine. I’ve got to get a grip. This isn’t like me. I reach to close it but then stop.

  Candy wrappers speckle the bottom of the locker, and there are a few wadded-up balls of paper. There’s nothing else. Not a notebook, not a textbook, not a single photograph. I smooth out one of the balls of paper. It’s a page of notes with formulas all over it dated last year. The other one is a haiku about Mr. Beeler and the fish on his wall.

  This is definitel
y unapproved reading material!

  I’ve never seen anyone use this locker, but it has to belong to someone. Otherwise, they’d put one of those plastic tie locks on it. I shut the door behind me and set off down the hall.

  New posters cover the main hall with phrases like COMMUNITY STRONG, PROTECT OUR CHILDREN, and STUDENTS FOR A MORAL FUTURE. The last one is signed by the Student Club for Appropriate Reading. I scan the hallway and then quickly rip it down.

  I wander through the school, avoiding going home and facing my parents after detention, and once again, I find myself in front of the library. The CLOSED sign is finally gone, and the door is propped open. A gasp escapes my throat before I can stop it. If you remove two-thirds of the books in a library, it leaves a gaping hole—like lots of tiny asteroids have blasted out entire sections. I walk the perimeter and scan the shelves. Fiction took the biggest hit; the only books remaining are for much younger kids. The nonfiction section seems to be mainly intact. But I’ll bet if I looked more closely, I’d find a chunk of those missing, too. If anyone needs to consult a set of encyclopedias from thirty years ago, though, they’re all set.

  Looking at those empty shelves drives it home.

  I’ve lost.

  “Honey, come on! The popcorn’s ready!”

  I stuff the last of my laundry into a drawer and take a look around before I turn out the light. It’s only Friday, and everywhere I go, I see empty shelves. I feel the absence more deeply here, though. My bedroom has been gutted. Well, except for the book hidden under my nightstand, but no one needs to know about that. I flick off the light and feel my way through the darkness.

  The last thing I want is a mother-daughter TV night after everything that happened, but Dad’s at a client meeting in town, and it’s not like I have anything better to do. It wasn’t supposed to be so low-key, though. Kate’s fall break is this weekend, but she’s “too busy” to come home.

  There are popcorn bowls on the coffee table, and next to them are three different kinds of seasoning. Cinnamon and sugar, cheese powder, and just plain salt. It’s like a gourmet popcorn buffet, and I can’t help but think Mom is trying to apologize. For Kate not being here. Or for taking my books. Or both? I crash on the couch, wrap myself in the throw, and go straight for the popcorn. “This is awesome!” I say through a mouthful of cinnamon sugar. Mom smiles and I decide to take advantage of her good mood.

  “Hey, Mom?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Do you think maybe sometime, I don’t know, I could hang out with Graham after school? When I’m not grounded?”

  Her mouth settles into a straight line. “No dating. You know how we feel about that. You’re not old enough.”

  “It wouldn’t be a date date. Just friends going to the diner or something.” Yes. That’s right. Friends who hold hands.

  “It’s not a date?”

  “Not a date.”

  She grabs a handful of popcorn. “When you’re not grounded, you can go to the diner if other people go with you. That’s the deal. If you go by yourself and we hear about it, you won’t go to the diner again until you’re eighteen.”

  Fine. Group date it is. “Thanks, Mom.” Since my detention, I’ve come straight home, done my homework, and helped cook dinner. This is my reward for following the rules.

  She nods and hits Play.

  It’s Fuller House. Her favorite. Right when the credits start, she prods me with her perfectly polished big toe. “Hey,” she says. “I’m glad we’re getting a TV night.” Mom really seems happier now that everything has calmed down. At least, it has for her. Otherwise, she’d never let me watch TV while I’m grounded.

  I smile back at her. “Me too.”

  Later that night in the darkness of my bedroom, I can’t sleep. When I close my eyes, all I can see is Mom, happy. Movie night felt so normal. So much more me than I’ve felt lately. But before I can even relax into feeling better about my parents, my mind switches like someone has a TV remote for my brain. And suddenly it’s Ms. Bradshaw’s smile on the screen.

  Will she get her job back? Is she thinking about me? Would she even want to work in a library without books? After the way the school treated her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she hit the road and never looked back. That’s what I’d do. It still gets me that the security guard escorted her out like a mall shoplifter. You can’t come back from something like that. Not really. The rumor is that it’s just an investigation, but when security kicks a teacher out in front of the student body, I’m pretty sure the verdict is already decided. Guilty.

  But the question on auto-repeat in my head is whether she blames me.

  I know what she’d say. “Be honest, groupie. Did you learn something from that book? Did it make you think about something in your own life? Did you love it?”

  I’d nod and say yes.

  She’d say, “Then I don’t regret a thing, and neither should you.”

  Except she’s not here, and I’d give anything to hear her say it.

  * * *

  I’m walking down the sidewalk to school on Tuesday when a car revs up behind me. It’s the purr of Mrs. Whitmore’s blue SUV. For just a second, I think Graham’s mom is going to slow down and offer me a ride, but she doesn’t. If anything, she speeds up. Graham places his palm against the passenger window as they barrel past me.

  I really am a problem child. But if my mom can start to forgive me, so can Graham’s. I was a rule follower for a lot longer than I’ve been a rule breaker.

  At the corner of Maple and Willow, I go straight.

  The leaves flutter overhead in brilliant shades of ruby, tangerine, and gold. It won’t be long now before they start to fall. Even walking to school alone, I’m in a good mood. Mom let me use her Keurig this morning, and I have the most amazing tumbler of hot chocolate in my hand. With marshmallows.

  The moment I step through the double doors, Graham runs over to me. “Careful! Hot chocolate!” I say. At least there’s a lid on it. His woodsy body spray mingles with the smell of cocoa.

  He hands me another dandelion. “What do you think? Can you forgive me?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say, taking the dandelion and tucking it into my pocket so the top of the flower sticks out. “But if you throw away any more books, that’s it.”

  He nods. “Fair enough. And,” he adds, “are you ever going to be ungrounded? Because…I, um, I know this guy who wants to spend time with you. If your family will let him.”

  He looks nervous again, and somehow just knowing he likes me enough to be nervous makes me feel brave. I smile up at him. “Want to try that cool and smooth thing again?”

  He grins. “Try?”

  “You know, if you have a question to ask me.”

  Graham leans closer. “Wanna go with me to get some burgers?”

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it.

  “That’s smooth?” I laugh.

  He beams at me. “Yep. So when are we going?”

  “When I’m not grounded anymore. Maybe next week, but it has to be a group thing.”

  “As long as you’re there, I’m happy.” He nods. “And you’re not getting grounded again anytime soon, right?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “You’re awesome. I mean it, June.” He grins.

  He threads his fingers through mine, falling into step with me on the way to my locker. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh. It’s not dating. I can’t get in trouble for handholding, right? I mean, who’s going to tell my parents?

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Graham’s voice startles me out of my handholding freak-out. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but my parents said if I keep my grades up, I get wireless headphones.”

  “Wow. That sounds amazing.” He’s actually already told me that, but I don’t want to ruin the moment by saying
so.

  Graham leans back next to my locker and fiddles with the buttons on my backpack while I flip through my combination. Within a few seconds my lock pops open, and I hoist out the science book, which weighs five tons. Graham reaches for my hand again, so I slam the door shut with my shoulder.

  The empty locker next to it pops open and I push it shut as the familiar chimes ring out over the loudspeaker. “Students, I know you’ve all been asking questions about the reopening of the library.” And Ms. Bradshaw. And your book policy.

  I freeze. Maybe this whole mess can finally be over. Please let Ms. Bradshaw be back where she belongs.

  “I would like to welcome you all to visit our library before classes start this morning and greet Ms. Morgan. She will take care of our library circulation desk for the time being. Thanks, and have a Dogwoodrific day!” The chimes play, ending the announcement.

  A substitute? Like, for a few days? Or are we talking about something more permanent?

  Graham kicks at the floor. “Guess she’s not coming back just yet. Sorry.” He brightens. “Want to go check it out?”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod. I won’t find anything I want in there. “So, on a scale of one to ten, how much damage have I done with your parents?”

  He runs his free hand through the back of his hair. “Just give them some time. They won’t stay mad forever.”

  “You sure about that? Association with me is damaging to the reputation.”

  He laughs. “Yes, because you are so deeply troubled.”

  “I’m serious. People love to talk. Everyone knows about my detention.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not doing that stuff anymore, and that’s all I care about.”

  That stuff. He talks about it like I’ve kicked a bad habit or something. I force a smile back at him.

  He says, “Trust me.” He releases my hand. “Now get in there and show everyone how wrong they are.”