Property of the Rebel Librarian

by Allison Varnes

  Mr. Garcia pulls up a chair next to her. “Emma, what’s your composition?”

  Her brush hovers in the air. The smile drains from her face. “Uh, I don’t know yet. I’m still figuring it out.”

  His thumb grazes his beard. “It’s already there if you look for it. What do you see?”

  Now Emma looks annoyed. I stare at my brushstrokes and try to control the smile that curls at my lips.

  She narrows her eyes. “Fruit?”

  “Look closer,” he says. He gestures to the curve of the bowl, the lines of the banana, the slant of the pear. “See that? It’s a circle. In your composition, everything is connected. What seems to be the end is the beginning, and the beginning is actually the end.”

  That’s one way of looking at it. Her beginning with Graham is actually the end with me. I swallow a lump that’s worked its way into my throat.

  Her brows furrow. “I only see fruit.”

  “I think I see the composition in mine,” I say.

  It’s like Mr. Garcia has a new purpose, the way his face lights up. “Oh? Show me.”

  I gesture to the lines of the main branches of my maple tree and the places where they intersect. “I see a triangle here. There are two points at the bottom, and the third one”—I indicate the uppermost leaf—“is at the top.”

  Emma rolls her eyes.

  Mr. Garcia beams at me. “You’re a natural, Ms. Harper.” He glances at the photo propped up by my painting. “Can you see how much your work has changed?”

  “Yeah. It’s just boring to do the same thing over and over again.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You could’ve used thick, heavy strokes and been done with this in two days, but your work is much more nuanced than that. See the richness in the red beginning to emerge?”

  “Yeah, but it’s only taken five years to get there,” I say.

  He laughs. “I think your leaves will see their peak in another week or so.”

  “After all the real leaves have fallen.”

  “True. But yours will last forever.”

  * * *

  My nightmare is here. I don’t know where to sit in the cafeteria. The band table is out of the question. Emma’s using the camera on her phone to put on lip gloss, and Graham’s leaning into the frame to check his hair. Emma rests her head on his shoulder so they can share the screen.

  Maybe it is love. I should just go eat in the bathroom before they see me standing here. Before Emma sees me holding my tray all by myself. How could she do this? Two weeks ago, everything was fine, and now I don’t even have anyone to eat lunch with. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go.

  I glance from table to table, with no luck. The same kids I’ve seen thousands of times are here, even the ones who nod at me in the hallway, but I don’t know them. Not really. And they don’t know me.

  I whirl around to leave and almost knock over Abby in the process.

  She jumps back, barely missing a collision with my tray.

  “Sorry!” I blurt.

  “Hey! I didn’t know you had this lunch.” Abby smiles, and I am so relieved to see her.

  “Yeah, I don’t usually stick around here long.”

  She nods slowly. “Same. You want to come with me? I was just grabbing a fork.”

  “You mean a spork?” I make a face and hold mine up where she can see the tiny prongs on the end.

  “What, there are no forks now?” Confusion clouds her face. “Since when?”

  “Since the book banning started and they became deadly weapons.” I thought it was bad when the plastic prongs couldn’t even puncture the cafeteria mystery meat. But in true Dogwood fashion, they made it worse in the name of safety. Now we have sporks, which break off in anything thicker than soup.

  Abby rolls her eyes. “When will it end?”

  We snag an extra spork and stroll past the whispers at the band table and out the door. The sensation of dozens of pairs of eyes following me ends the minute it swings shut. Tension drains from my shoulders. It’s going to be okay.

  “Rough day?”

  She knows. How could she not? The whole school knows.

  “I’ve had better.” I shrug.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “It’s half over. That’s an improvement.”

  She pauses. “The improvement happened yesterday, if the rumors are true.”

  I smirk. “They are.” How pathetic am I that other people see it as an immediate improvement, and it took me until yesterday to do something about it.

  We round the corner and, to my surprise, head straight toward the library. I hesitate. Don’t we need permission to take food into the library? Abby steps ahead of me through the door. “Hey, guys, look who I found.”

  Dan Fuller is halfway through a burger. The high five in the lobby makes more sense now. “Hey!”

  Matt pauses with his peanut butter and jelly sandwich in midair. “It’s about time, Ms. Harper!”

  I smile back at him. Is this what it feels like to be popular?

  “Hey,” I say. I take a second to look around. The shelves are still as empty as before. “Really? You eat here?”

  “Just since they emptied it.” Dan smiles, his grin vibrant against his black skin. “But we’re not supposed to.”

  “What?” I look over my shoulder at the door. “Aren’t you worried about getting into trouble?”

  He shrugs. “Nope. If they kick us out of here, we can go to the cafeteria or eat outside.”

  “And what about the substitute? What’s her name—Ms. Morgan?” I whisper as I slide into a seat at the table.

  “On the phone with her mother in the back during her lunch break. Every. Single. Day. She doesn’t care if we eat in here.” He takes a huge bite of burger.

  “And she pretty much ignores us.” Abby digs her spork into some sort of rice and chicken combo. Judging from the aroma wafting up from the chicken, no way is that from the cafeteria. “By the way, your timing with Graham couldn’t have been better. We’ve been tiptoeing around him for the last two weeks. That guy was bound to turn up something sooner or later, pacing the halls wearing that SCAR button.”

  I prod the scoop of tuna on my tray and frown. “He figured out I’m still reading.”

  “Oh no!” Abby groans. “There goes our library.”

  “I don’t think he knows about the locker, or he would’ve said something. We ended things and that’s it.” I say it as though it’s no big deal.

  “Whew! That’s good, but aren’t you afraid he’ll say something?” Matt asks. “Just knowing you’re reading means he could really mess things up.”

  “I asked him if he was going to rat me out.”

  Dan chuckles. “And what did he say?”

  “He said he didn’t care about me or my books.”

  “Ugh! He’s so mean.” Abby drizzles some pink-hued sauce over her rice. “But I’m not so sure he’s going to keep quiet. I’ve lived behind the Whitmores since preschool. That’s long enough to know what happens when Graham doesn’t get his way.”

  I smile. “He cries to his mommy?”

  “Maybe.” Abby shrugs. “Or he spills everything he knows to anyone who will listen.”

  “True. Remember in fourth grade when he tattled to Mr. O’Brien every time I chewed gum?” Dan asks. “All because I didn’t have enough to share one day.”

  “That was because of Graham?” Matt says. “They made you scrape gum off desks for a week every time you got busted!”

  “Tell me about it,” Dan says.

  Abby twists the top off her water. “Yeah. If he couldn’t have any, no one could.” Her expression is thoughtful. “No way is he letting this go.”

  I force myself to swallow a bite of tuna. “I don’t know. He’s already using Em
ma to try to hurt me. Maybe he won’t say anything. He has everything he wants now.” Her. I should’ve said her.

  “But only because you told him no. Then she was his only option, so he took it,” Abby says.

  I almost grin. I did tell him no, and it felt amazing.

  “What actually happened?” Matt asks. “Graham found out you were reading, you ended it, and now he’s with your best friend, right? Did I miss anything?”

  Almost. I smash my entree with the back of my spork. “I think the last part may have been first.” I grimace at the truth, but if my whole life is going to be out there in the open, I might as well set them straight.

  “Unbelievable!” Abby rolls her eyes. “Well, we knew he was a jerk.”

  Funny. It took me longer to figure it out.

  “I’m sorry,” Matt says, flushing a bit. He looks like he’d like to crawl under the table. “I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, dismissing it with a wave of my spork. I don’t care anymore. They shouldn’t, either.

  “No, it isn’t. You deserved better,” Matt says.

  I laugh. “Define better.”

  He considers me a moment. “Something real.”

  Real. I’d like to see what that looks like.

  “You really don’t think Graham has a clue about the locker?” Abby asks.

  “Nope. I think we’re safe for now,” I say. “But we have to be more careful.”

  Everyone nods in agreement.

  * * *

  The soggy carpet of matted leaves squelches under my boots on the way home.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but today wasn’t it. All I know for sure is that Graham and Emma deserve each other.

  I wonder how much of this year has actually been real.

  I was so awkward this summer at band camp. And then, next thing I knew, Graham was flirting with me, June Harper. Not that I was able to date. Not officially. But he liked me. I just wanted to hold on to him and that magical feeling I got whenever he touched my hand.

  Except I couldn’t be myself around him. I had to hide who I was so I could be some idea of who he wanted me to be.

  How did I miss it?

  The toe of my boot connects with an acorn. I take careful aim and kick it as hard as I can, but it doesn’t go far. The leaves slow it down.

  All I could see before was the world according to my parents.

  To Graham.

  I didn’t stop to think about how I saw things. If I had, maybe it wouldn’t have taken me so long to get here.

  “Honey! Come down here a sec!”

  Mom probably wants me to play along with her while she watches Jeopardy! I stash Holes under my nightstand and report for duty in the living room. Dad props his feet up on the ottoman, a grin on his face. “Well, look who it is.”

  “We have something important to tell you.” Mom reaches over and squeezes his hand.

  My heart picks up its pace. Maybe there’s news about Ms. Bradshaw. Or maybe they’ve done something else. I’m afraid to ask, but I can’t stop myself. “What is it?”

  Mom smiles. “We thought it was time we return some things to you.”

  Does that mean what I think it means? “My books?”

  Dad nods toward two boxes stacked in the corner. “It took us forever to read them all, but we finally did it.”

  “They’re all here?” I try to hide my excitement, but it’s impossible. Is it weird to want to hug books? Too bad if it is. It’s what I’m going to do as soon as I get upstairs with them.

  “More or less.”

  I don’t like the sound of that, but I don’t want to make them change their minds. “Thanks.”

  I have to take an armload at a time. Ten of them, actually, since the boxes are too heavy to lug upstairs. Surrounded by my collection, I sift through the piles and try to organize them. Old Yeller is first. I know this book so well. Each and every moment that makes me cry is committed to memory. I really don’t know why I still read it when I know how it ends.

  One of the pages toward the end feels thicker than the others, so I flip to it. A white index card has been glued down over the existing page. Travis is supposed to pick up his shotgun here, but instead it reads And then Old Yeller was cured of rabies and lived happily ever after. That’s it. The rest of the pages have been ripped from the spine.

  My jaw drops. I reach for another book.

  My old copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid has card stock glued over the fart jokes.

  Monster is still there, but half of it has been torn out or rewritten in twelve-point Times New Roman font. Always glued over existing pages. A feeling of dread creeps over me.

  The same edits are in a few of my other books. Someone took great care to cut out tiny black rectangles and paste them over certain words. They seem to have forgotten I’ve already read everything.

  I don’t know if I’m more angry or defeated. I never dreamed they could be this over-the-top.

  I search for a book they couldn’t possibly have edited. Anne of Green Gables. It’s a classic, and I know Mom loved it at my age. But even Anne isn’t safe. Her tea party with the currant wine is missing, and there’s an index card in its place with the words Anne serves grape juice to Diana. They have a nice tea. The story doesn’t make any sense without that scene.

  I snap the book shut. This is exactly why locker 319 exists.

  * * *

  The next morning before school, a sixth grader whispers, “Shh! Here he comes again!”

  Mr. Beeler has done three drive-bys so far with his walkie-talkie. I guess we do look a bit suspicious. The whole hallway is jammed tight with students, but there’s no public event. No fundraising table. No flowers for sale. All of a sudden, this hallway’s real estate value is on the rise without an obvious reason. And right now, I’m standing in the thick of it with Colby.

  Mr. Beeler scans the students as he passes, nodding and greeting random people. His gaze lingers on me a moment longer than everyone else and makes my pulse quicken. I’m a question that he hasn’t quite answered. And thanks to my detention with the litter crew, he’s keeping a close watch on me. Clearly, I didn’t think that one through.

  Thank goodness for Abby, who works with the efficiency of a cruise director. She’s already instructing the kids behind us. “You guys need to mix it up a bit. Don’t look like you’re waiting, and don’t stare at June. Act like you’re just hanging out, or he’ll be onto us…if he isn’t already.”

  We exchange a meaningful glance. It’s just a matter of time if we’re not more careful.

  One of the teachers pushes his way into the end of the hallway and squares his shoulders against the wall. The new technology lab teacher, I think. He crosses his arms and scowls into the crowd. What can he possibly say? We’re not late for class, and we look like we’re on our best behavior.

  Abby appears by my elbow next to Colby. “Hey, you okay?” she asks.

  “No,” I say. “I’m not.”

  Matt drops his backpack next to me. “What did I miss?”

  “You know how my parents took my books?”

  They all nod.

  “I got them back last night.”

  “That’s great!” Colby says.

  I look at each of them slowly and say, “They EDITED them.”

  Abby grimaces. “What?”

  “As in they tore out entire pages they didn’t like, rewrote endings, you name it.”

  Matt shakes his head. “No way.”

  “Wow,” Abby says.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Colby adds. I start to feel better just knowing my friends are as shocked as I am.

  “I wish I were. Just when I think they’re done, they do something else. It’s never going to stop!”

  Abby pats my shoulder. “The
n it’s a really good thing you have another library, isn’t it?”

  I smile. “Definitely.”

  Mr. New Tech Teacher starts walking in our direction.

  “Code red!” Abby whispers. She turns to chat with some sixth graders, and Colby bends down to tie his shoe.

  “Hey, can we talk for a sec?” Matt asks.

  “Now?”

  Matt’s face says it all. It can’t wait.

  “Okay,” I say. I carefully angle the notebook into locker 319 and secure the lock.

  Cued by my exit, the throngs of students in line begin to disperse. Eek. We need to tell everyone to be less obvious about filling the hallway or leaving depending on whether I’m there. New Tech Teacher’s eyes lock on me.

  Matt casts a casual glance over his shoulder after we round the corner. “This is getting too risky.”

  It’s like he read my mind. “I know. It’s a good thing they don’t know what they’re looking for.”

  “Yeah, but it’s too close. Graham already knows you’re reading banned books. It wouldn’t take much for him to put two and two together. Or for a teacher or principal to catch on. June, we have to leave the locker and figure out something else. It’s the only way we’ll be safe.” He takes my hand and my stomach flutters. The heat rises to my cheeks just to spite me. It’s like my subconscious wants him to know what I think about him, when I’m not totally sure myself yet.

  “What do you suggest?” I try to keep my voice steady as he leads me down the hallway.

  He looks up and down the corridor and then drops my hand and reaches for a door handle. “I’d rather show you.”

  We cross the threshold together. Once upon a time, this wing of the building was the elementary school. This area was the gym, but it’s so small we don’t really use it for anything except end-of-the-year pizza parties. We’re definitely not supposed to be in here unattended.

  “Matt! This is great. Do they usually leave it unlocked?”

  The door clicks into place behind us. “Every morning this week.”