Property of the Rebel Librarian

by Allison Varnes

  Matt lifts the lever and pulls the locker open. I kneel down to pretend-adjust my boot because there’s nothing else for me to do. I’m the worst lookout of all time. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him rifle through the contents of her locker.

  What if she didn’t do it? I glance up at Matt, who gives a slight shake of his head. I knew he wouldn’t find anything. And then my eyes catch something else.

  A shiny black half-globe jutting from the ceiling.

  A security camera.

  And Matt is standing directly in front of it.

  * * *

  First period is the longest class of my entire life. The only thing I hear is when Ms. Langford says that heartbreak is called that for a reason. If you get your heart broken, it can actually stop beating for a moment. I wonder if that’s what happened when I saw the camera in the hallway.

  She drones on with the PowerPoint, but it’s all I can do to act like I’m paying attention.

  Madison glances at me, but I keep my eyes straight ahead. Does she know? If only I could get a lock on my nerves and stop my leg from shaking. All anyone has to do is look at me to know I’m a nervous wreck. Which I’ve been since the bell rang. It’s just a matter of time until she finds the remains of her lock on the linoleum floor. Then they’ll check the cameras. And they’ll find Matt.

  I knew it was a bad idea the moment he opened his mouth. Why did I say yes? Nothing about it even makes sense. If Madison stole it, she would never keep it in her locker. I think I’m in the clear with the camera, but what if—what if—I’m not?

  And what if Matt gets in major trouble for it? They can’t expel him for that, can they? I can’t even imagine a Dogwood Middle without him in it, and I don’t want to. He’s the one person who really seems to get me. I drum my fingers on my desk. The suspense is killing—

  The bell rings. Finally. I stride straight out the door and walk past Madison’s locker without giving it a second glance. I duck into the old gym to search for Matt. Instead, I find a group of students reading with flashlights. I’m glad they listened when I said no overhead lights. I shake my head at the eighth grader who keeps requesting Twilight and tell her to check back tomorrow. I wish we had the whole series, but I haven’t spotted a single one yet. I dart into the art room.

  I gather my painting, brush, palette, and a few tubes of paint. I fill a mason jar halfway with water, then slide into my usual seat at the table. Everyone else does the same.

  Emma strolls in and stares at me as she gathers her materials. I try to stay calm. But what if she knows something? Did she steal the notebook? Would she tell?

  I try not to look at her while I repeat exactly what I did yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. The red has turned from pale hints of color to a deeper hue. Looking at it now, I can’t believe the difference. Even though it took forever, each day made it into something bigger.

  Emma threw out the banana portrait last week. Now she bites her lip in concentration while focusing on a bowl of pinecones in front of her.

  The same day she trashed her work, Mr. Garcia told me I could maybe get special permission to take high school art next year. I’d love it, but I’m not sure if my parents would go for it. They’d probably want me to take some kind of health science class instead.

  Emma steals a glance at me. I pretend I don’t notice. Or care. But I can’t stop worrying about Matt. The notebook. Everything.

  Mr. Garcia weaves through the tables back to us. He lingers over my shoulder. “Talk to me about what you’re doing today, Ms. Harper.”

  Easy. The same thing I’ve done every day before now. “Adding more layers.”

  He shifts slightly. “I think it’s a little bit more than that. See what you’re doing around the edges of the leaves? And the veins inside them? The color is thicker there, but delicate. See the space around it?”

  “I’m not sure what I’m doing there.”

  “Don’t you see it? That’s where you let in the light.”

  I’m so nervous, I skip the cafeteria and head straight for the library. For the first time ever, I beat everyone else there. I even beat Ms. Morgan’s daily phone call. She sits at her computer desk next to a plastic jack-o’-lantern full of candy.

  “Can I help you, dear?”

  “I’m just waiting for some friends,” I say.

  “What?” Her pocket begins to buzz. “Excuse me.” She disappears around the corner and shuts the door behind her. Just like clockwork.

  I swipe some candy from her desk and slide into a chair at our usual table. It’s not long before Abby arrives with her Star Wars lunch bag and chocolate milk. “Happy Halloween!” she says in a Count Dracula voice. Her smile fades. “June? What’s wrong?”

  Before I can answer, Matt strolls in through the door with a tray in his hand and his bag slung over his shoulder.

  I breathe a sigh. “Where have you been?”

  He gives me a funny look. “Class?”

  Abby slides into the seat next to me right as Dan walks through the door. “Will someone tell me what’s going on?” she asks.

  “It’s nothing,” Matt says.

  “It’s more than nothing. Matt decided to play private investigator to find the notebook.”

  “So? That’s a good thing, right?” Abby asks.

  “So it included breaking into Madison Greene’s locker,” I say, resting my face in my hands.

  “You did what?” Dan says. He sets down his tray with a frown. “That’s not cool.”

  Matt digs his spork into a mound of canned corn. “Desperate times. Someone else did the same to locker 319. How do you think they got the notebook to start with?”

  “There are just a few problems with that.” I tick them off on my fingers. “One, they knew for sure we had it. Two, they didn’t break anything. And three—”

  “Wait—he broke something?” Dan asks.

  “He cut off her lock!” I say. I still can’t believe he did that.

  “I had to.” Matt shakes his head. “We had to check.”

  Dan and Abby frown. I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks it was a bad move.

  I sigh. “And three, they didn’t have to stand under a security camera to do it.”

  Matt’s eyes widen in surprise. “No!”

  I nod. “I’m so sorry.”

  “But I looked up. There wasn’t one there.” He puts down his spork.

  “The exit sign blocked it. I saw it from the other side ten seconds too late.” How could we not check the ceiling? It’s School of Deviance 101: ALWAYS. CHECK. FOR. CAMERAS.

  He groans. “Well, it’s done now.” He pokes at watery, muted-green asparagus on his tray. “They won’t check the cameras unless she reports it, and she won’t. Trust me. She had nothing in there worth stealing.”

  Dan sets down his chocolate milk. “No, she wouldn’t.” He leans in and lowers his voice, even though there’s no one but us here. “My mom said the diner’s in trouble. Madison has had to help out for the last two months because her family can’t afford to pay anyone. Think about it.” If she’s as pleasant to everyone else as she is me, she’s not faring well with tips, either.

  Matt looks taken aback.

  “You have to replace her lock,” I say.

  “Fine. I’ll pick one up tomorrow.” He pushes the rest of his food away. He frowns while he tears his napkin into long strips. “And we still don’t have the notebook.”

  “It’ll turn up.”

  “Yeah, but where? Until that notebook is found, we’re all at risk.”

  “Not really. Batman.”

  He smiles. We thought of everything.

  The door swings open, and Mr. Beeler marches in flanked by our two school security guards. My heart sinks. “Matt Brownlee,” Mr. Beeler says.

  It�
�s not a question. It’s an accusation. This is all my fault. If Matt hadn’t been trying so hard to help, and if I’d just said no, this wouldn’t be happening. Adrenaline courses through my veins. Did they see me? If they had, they’d say my name, too, right?

  Matt turns around, his face expressionless. “Yeah?” It’s as though Mr. Beeler just asked him if he wanted ketchup with his meat loaf.

  I can’t help but admire how calm he is. My voice would’ve squeaked.

  “We need you to come with us. Now.” Mr. Beeler nods to the officers. “Get his bag,” he says. But he’s watching me instead of Matt.

  * * *

  Matt wasn’t in band and he didn’t show up when after-school practice ended. It’s like he disappeared into the principal’s office and never came out. I set out for home after I’ve lingered as long as I can.

  A few jack-o’-lanterns peek out from the shop windows, and a paper skeleton waves in the doorway of the diner. Threatening clouds darken the sky.

  I hurry past it, remembering the music and how happy I was. I’m struck by the difference a day makes. Yesterday changed things between Matt and me, but he’ll be grounded forever after today. I don’t know what normally happens when kids do what Matt did, but they make you pick up litter now if you’re caught reading books. So this will probably be ten times worse.

  When I get to Maple Lane, the wind gusts and sends fallen leaves into a dance around my feet. The branches are entirely bare now.

  Today in the Little Free Library I find Sticks & Stones and Poppy Mayberry, The Monday. My copy of The Graveyard Book is back on the shelf.

  I flip over to the message in the first book: To Brendan—If I could be a Wednesday, I’d turn back time. The writing inside Sticks & Stones says, To Brendan—who’s always known the power of words. I’ve found my reading for tonight.

  Stooping down, I slip the books into the hidden compartment in my backpack. I feel bad taking my own book again, but I’ll swap it with something else soon. A dark shadow passes over the blinds in the front window. Someone is standing there watching me. Again. They could be someone’s mom. They could even be Ms. Bradshaw, for all I know. I smile at the thought, even though there’s no way that’s true. If Ms. Bradshaw owned that house, she’d be halfway down the driveway by now asking which book I planned to read first. She wouldn’t be hiding behind her blinds. I pull myself up to my full height. I can feel them watching me still. Without thinking, I hold up my hand and wave.

  Nothing moves for a moment. And then the shadow passes again. A section of the blinds presses flat up against the window. There’s no question about it. It’s a hand waving back at me.

  The wind blows my hair in every direction except the one that would give me any chance of looking like a cover model. Thunder booms, and I pick up my pace. Ahead of me one ruby-red leaf rattles sideways from a branch a few yards away.

  It’s beautiful. It can’t stay, but it clings for dear life anyway. I stop to take a picture of it with my mind.

  Then another strong gust of wind rips through the branches, and the last leaf falls.

  * * *

  “Hello?” I say. “Mom?”

  “In here.”

  I follow her voice to the kitchen, where she sits with my dad. Each one has an enormous bowl of ice cream in front of them.

  I sling down my bag and reach for a bowl.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Mom says. “You’ll spoil your dinner.”

  I bite my tongue. Why don’t they just have burgers on the grill and make me eat tofu? It’s like they know I didn’t eat lunch.

  “So, when were you going to tell us about the diner?” Dad says through a large bite of ice cream.

  There’s no way I’m going to share with them—if there’s even anything to share. I shrug and tell them the truth. “I don’t know.”

  Mom says, “Next time you get serenaded in public, a heads-up would be nice. I had to hear it from the cashier at the grocery store, and believe me, she told me all about it. Very interesting.”

  “Okay.”

  Dad leans back in his chair. “So, you went on a date.”

  “No. It wasn’t a date. It was just a snack after school. Promise.”

  “A snack with singing.”

  “I didn’t sing.”

  Mom puts down her spoon. “Your father and I were just wondering what kind of young man would choose such a romantic gesture.” She pats the chair next to her. “We know nothing about him. You can tell me, or I’ll just call his parents and find out for myself.”

  I can tell her or suffer eternal humiliation. Both probably end in being grounded again. I sigh. “Gee, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Spill, kid.”

  I slink back into the uncomfortable wooden chair. The rungs cut neat rows into my back. “Matt Brownlee is in eighth grade. He plays baritone in the band—”

  “And he sings,” Mom adds.

  “Yeah, that, too. His dad has a car shop. That’s all I know. You already met him, Mom. Remember?” And he likes to read, but I think I’ll leave out that part if I ever want to see him again.

  “When?”

  “In the band room after your meeting. It was raining.”

  She leans back in her chair. “Oh, that’s him?” She nods. “I remember.”

  Dad props himself up on his elbows. “But you still can’t date him.”

  “Didn’t even want to,” I say. Why push my luck?

  They exchange glances. I’ve never been good at lying. And after the stunt Matt pulled today, it’s only a matter of time until my parents hear about it and I’m never allowed to hang out with him again.

  “Well, good,” Mom says. “Then it’s settled. No dating.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Dad scrapes the last bit of ice cream out of the bowl. “When you’re sixteen, we’ll talk. Until then, no more diner trips alone. Or you’re grounded.” He flashes me his best smile.

  The last thing I want to see when it’s pouring rain and freezing is a line of students waiting to get into the building. I fall into place behind Brooke. “Is there a reason we’re standing out here?”

  “Some kind of random search,” she says.

  “Oh,” I say, my voice slightly higher than usual. It was just a matter of time before they started searching for books. And me. But the secret compartment is there for a reason. They won’t find anything unless they’re looking at the stitches under a magnifying glass. But what about everyone else? I fidget with the strap on my backpack. “Must be important.”

  Brooke edges under my umbrella. “It’s probably about books.”

  I grip my backpack strap tighter. “Yeah, I heard books have been a big problem lately.”

  The line inches forward just a bit.

  I can’t see a thing from outside. All I can do is roll my shoulders forward and take comforting sips of hot chocolate.

  There’s no sign of Matt anywhere, and still the line grows.

  Brooke frantically tries to flatten her hair into place, but she’s no match for sideways rain. “Speaking of which, what’s going on with Matt?”

  My stomach drops. “What do you mean?” I say, trying to sound as casual as possible.

  “I was hoping you’d tell me, since I heard all about the diner.” She sighs. “I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but you need to know this, okay? They’re saying he stole a wad of money from Madison Greene’s locker.”

  “No way! He wouldn’t do that.” I hope he’s okay. This is all my fault. I never should’ve gone along with it.

  Brooke shrugs. “I know. It doesn’t sound like him at all. I’m just telling you what I heard. And that’s not even the worst part.” She leans back and speaks quietly. “They found a banned book in his bag.”

  Of course
. I had just given him Bob. I suck in my breath like it’s the most scandalous thing I’ve heard in months. “What?”

  “You should’ve heard Emma. She’s telling everyone she knew he was trouble and that’s why she liked Graham instead.”

  “I guess she forgot to tell me.” I don’t even try to keep the sadness out of my voice.

  The line moves forward a few feet more. Closer to a possible phone call to my parents. They’re watching to see who leaves. If I step away, they’ll catch up to me in less than a minute.

  Brooke’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh, June! I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking. If it makes you feel any better, she’s driving me up the wall with her bragging. We’re all sick of it. Oh, but I’m going to need to know more about the diner! Out with it.” She leans in to whisper into my ear, covering her mouth with her hand so no one else can hear. “How long have you guys really been together?”

  “Brooke!”

  The line moves forward again. Stay calm. There’s the tiniest chance that I’ll make it through the line without getting caught, but it isn’t looking good.

  She cackles. “Please say weeks. You don’t know how much I’d love to tell Emma just to see her face.”

  “You know I wouldn’t have done that to her.”

  Brooke’s expression darkens. “Yeah, but she would’ve. Trust me, she’s not the same.”

  I shrug. “I don’t think anything is anymore. So when will Matt be back?”

  “Don’t know. He’s suspended until they finish their investigation.”

  I really should talk to Brooke more often, even if she won’t share her junk food. She’s like a walking student gossip columnist.