Dad grins wide. “Of course! Every writer faces a blank page sometimes. Only I don’t call it writer’s block. I don’t think a blank page means you’re out of ideas. I think it means you’re trying too hard, either to write something you think you should write or to write something that doesn’t come from your heart. Which I guess is the same thing. When it’s right, you can write.”
“You used a homophone!” I notice. (Fun fact: homophones are words that sound the same but have different meanings and spellings, like horse and hoarse or right and write!) I can’t help but smile. I run over to my notepad.
When it’s right, you can write.
That’s when I think of something. “But, Dad, how do you know when it’s right?”
Dad drops a kiss on my head. “You’ll know.”
I’ll know.
Chapter 6
Saving the Library: Part 1
On Thursdays, we usually have PE at the end of the day, but today Mrs. Sablinsky is showing us a film about the American Revolution after lunch. So before we even go into the classroom, she tells us to leave our backpacks on the blacktop and start running. Only no one is in a running mood on account of our wardrobe.
We are all wearing pajamas. I’m in my light-blue pajamas with pink unicorns all over them. I’m still wearing my usual green sneakers with pink Unicorn laces because even when it’s Pajama Day we still have to follow the school dress code. Slippers are not allowed. Some of the teachers dressed up. But not Mrs. S. She’s not a dressing-up kind of person.
Siri’s pajamas are hot pink with different kinds of candy. I spot rainbow lollipops and red licorice, purple and blue jelly beans, and even yellow and white taffy. Siri and I always run together. Except that it seems strange to run around the school in my pj’s (kind of like one of those nightmares where you imagine you have forgotten to get dressed in the morning). As we run side by side, I talk to Siri about the library.
“Closing the library two days a week is wrong,” she says, shaking her head. I watch her ponytail swish back and forth.
“I know. No new books either.” I take a big breath. “It’s our library.” I like to announce things in two parts. First, the introduction and second, the content. “So we’re going to save it.”
Siri’s eyes are wide as she looks at me. “We’re going to save the library? But how?”
I stretch my stride as we round the turn. Only one more lap to go.
“We’re going to raise money for books. I don’t know how yet. But I know the Unicorns can come up with an idea.”
“Me too,” Siri says as she high-fives me. It’s not that easy to run and high-five at the same time, but we manage.
“Let’s tell everyone now,” I suggest. Siri nods. Charlotte, Daisy, and Jessica are behind us. So we slow down until they catch up. Then we walk the last lap together so we can talk.
By the time Mrs. Sablinsky calls us to go to class, we are all in agreement. Now all we have to do is figure out what we can do to raise money.
• • •
Mrs. S is all business today. First up is a spelling assignment. She hands out a list of words we have to define and then use in sentences. Whatever isn’t finished will be homework. I always rush to finish if I know I can avoid homework. Less homework means more reading time for me!
After that, we have math word problems. Usually I don’t like word problems, but today I realize I will really need to understand my numbers if I am going to make lots of money. I especially pay attention to the decimal point. Every penny will count if I am going to buy all those books.
Then it’s time for…you guessed it! Poetry.
“Remember, tomorrow is the last day to turn in your poems. If you are late, you will not be eligible for the Poetry Read.” Mrs. S is a stickler for deadlines.
While everyone is working or sharing their poems (I try not to notice most of the class is finished now, but I can’t help it), Mrs. Sablinsky walks around the room.
I stare at the dreaded piece of paper.
When it’s right, you can write. Dad’s words beg me not to try for something poemy, but just to write. I make a mental list of possible topics:
1. Abe (Need I say more?)
2. The American Revolution (We’ve been learning a lot in social studies.)
3. Food (Who wouldn’t want to hear a poem about pickles?)
4. Friends (I could write one line about each friend.)
5. Family (It would be easy to write about each person I love.)
I put my pencil on the paper. Any one of these topics would be fine. I know I could write a poem worth reading out loud.
Only
nothing
happens.
That’s when Mrs. Sablinsky decides to stop at my desk for a little chat.
“Sometimes students don’t write anything on their paper because they aren’t trying,” she begins.
Uh-oh. Here we go. I’m in Trouble with a capital T now. There are two kinds of trouble: trouble with a lowercase t usually involves a lecture from my parents or teacher and a sincere apology from me, but Trouble with a capital T is way more serious. It usually involves a consequence of some kind.
I am just about to explain that I am trying, only nothing will come out of my pencil onto the paper, when she says this:
“Other times, I can tell people are doing their best, but something is getting in the way.” Mrs. Sablinsky sighs, but not in the way she usually does when she talks to me. This sigh is more of a helpful, friendly kind of sigh. “I won’t be judging the poetry but just grading you on whether you have completed the assignment. Poetry is an art form, and I don’t believe you can grade an art form.”
Truthfully, I hadn’t even considered what grade I might get. I was more worried about how the poem would sound in front of the whole school.
“But when someone reads a poem out loud in front of the whole school, then everyone will be judging it, right?”
Mrs. Sablinsky leans down so her face is at my level. I never noticed that she has golden-brown eyes. And very long eyelashes. Longer even than Abe’s. “I see what’s happening now,” she says quietly. “Creative writing is about writing what is inside you. Not about writing to please other people. You do that with essay writing. This is about expressing yourself. What do you want to express, Ruby?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “I think of stories, and they’re a lot longer than three lines with five or seven syllables. I read some poems in the library and they didn’t rhyme, so I know I don’t have to write something that sounds like a greeting card. I even made a list of possible subjects. Only none of them seemed just right.”
“With art, there is something for everyone,” Mrs. S continues. “And since you love stories, I have an idea for you. We won’t be going over this in class because it’s a little bit ahead of your grade level. But I think you can handle it.”
Wait, is Mrs. Sablinsky really going to tell me something no one else in this entire class will know? She thinks I’m that smart?
“The first form of poetry was actually a long story poem called an epic. There are some really famous ancient epic poems. They are always about a brave hero setting out on a long journey. On the journey, the hero displays true courage.”
I can’t believe there is a whole kind of poetry for telling stories. I think my mouth must be hanging open in surprise. I close it quick before I embarrass myself.
“In the ancient poems, there was a special format called dactylic hexameter. It’s complicated, and since you only have a day left to finish, we won’t go into that now. I can teach you about it later if you want. For this assignment though, make sure you include a hero, a long journey with obstacles to overcome, and the hero returning home at the end. Do you think you would like to do that?”
So many ideas are racing through my mind on Rollerblades. Zip-z
ip-zip. I nod at Mrs. Sablinsky.
“I would most definitely,” I say. She stands up to her full height again.
Suddenly, she’s back to her usual self. “Will B, put the eraser down. Now! Do not put that in your mouth again!” Before she heads across the room to deal with Will B, I give her a giant grin. “Thank you,” I tell her. I really and truly mean it.
I stand at the tip of a very long piece of paper. It is so long that it extends all the way from my castle into the forest. Only the bravest knight can walk across this paper and create the footprints that will tell her story. I am that knight. I dip my boots into a golden bucket of green paint. Then I begin to walk across the paper. Every step I take creates a new word. I will continue on this journey until my story is told. Generations to come will know of me and my bravery. For I am the Knight of the Epic Poem.
When the bell rings for lunch, I don’t even notice. It isn’t until Siri says my name that I look up from the paper. It is completely covered with words, both the front and back.
“Lunch,” Siri tells me. I blink once. Twice. Then I notice that everyone is getting their lunches out of their backpacks.
I can’t wait to tell Dad that when it’s right, you really can write. I jump out of my seat. I have lots of planning to do at lunch. I can’t waste a single moment. Mrs. Sablinsky is collecting the poems and putting them into two separate folders. The yellow one for incomplete. The red one for finished.
I hand her my paper. She looks down, and for a split second, I think I see her lips curve into a smile. Only it’s so fast that I can’t be completely sure. In case she thinks I am ready for the red folder, I tell her, “I need to work on it tomorrow. I don’t have the ending yet.”
She nods and slips my poem into the yellow folder. I try not to notice that I am the only one with a paper in that folder, which means I am the only student who hasn’t finished yet. I just force myself to think about something else, something happier. Like chocolate-chip caramel ice cream (my favorite).
I pull my lunch bag out of my leopard backpack while Siri waits for me. Charlotte is standing near the door.
“Ready?” I ask as I hand Siri my lunch so I can pull on my sweatshirt.
But Charlotte shakes her head. “Go ahead. I’ll meet you there.”
“Are you sure?” Siri asks. We always walk to lunch together.
Charlotte just nods before moving toward Mrs. Sablinsky’s desk. Siri and I head outside together. The weather is starting to get colder now that it’s almost Thanksgiving. I have to zip up my sweatshirt one-handed while we are hurrying down the stairs. In case you haven’t tried this before, it’s not as easy as it sounds.
Siri and I squeeze in next to Jessica. Daisy sits across from us with Charissa, Brooke, and Sophie.
I can’t wait to tell them all about my plan to save the library so we can start brainstorming ideas. But Charlotte isn’t here yet. It kind of annoys me that I have something super-duper important to say but I can’t say it because everyone isn’t here. Instead, I take a big bite of my apple and chew really loud. Sometimes chewing really loud helps me to be less annoyed. Have you ever noticed that doing something really annoying helps you to be less annoyed about what someone else might be doing that annoys you? Which is a really long way of saying: I’m annoyed! The only thing that makes it better is that I am sitting here in my comfy unicorn pj’s.
Chapter 7
Saving the Library: Part 2
I’m all the way around the apple once and only half listening to Charissa and Siri talking about which middle schools they are going to next year when Charlotte arrives. Or to be more exact: a giant stack of books arrives with Charlotte’s pajama legs poking out underneath.
A voice comes out of the half-book, half-human body. “Mrs. Sablinsky loaned us eight copies of Starmist. It’s not on our list, but Daisy asked for a horse story, and Sophie and Brooke wanted something under one hundred and fifty pages.”
Charlotte leans forward and sets the books right in the middle of the lunch table. Now we can see her face. I haven’t known Charlotte very long, but I have never once seen her light up like this. I recognize the emotion because I have experienced it myself. She’s proud of herself. Charlotte Thomas has saved the day.
I flip my legs to the other side of the bench. “Thanks, Charlotte. This is really great” is what I am saying, but not what I am thinking. I wish I could say the sickish feeling in my stomach is from eating my apple too fast. But I know it isn’t. I know this because I’ve had this problem before—and weirdly, with Charlotte. The feeling making me queasy can only be one thing:
Envy.
I am envious because Charlotte thought about asking Mrs. Sablinsky for the books. I am envious because Mrs. Sablinsky loaned them to her. And I am envious because right now everyone is jumping up and hugging Charlotte and acting like she is a hero. This was supposed to be my hero moment. Only it isn’t.
“How did you get her to loan you so many books?” Jessica wants to know.
Charlotte shrugs like it was nothing. But this isn’t nothing. This is one of those moments that you remember forever. “I just explained that our book club was searching for eight copies of a book we would all like, and she suggested this one. She said she has lots of copies of books in her cabinets so all we have to do is ask.”
Hrumphhhhhh. As if it’s that easy. I’ve been Mrs. Sablinsky’s student for months now, and today was the first time she was actually even nice to me. It was like opposite day or something. Maybe when I get home, we’ll be having breakfast for dinner.
I take the top copy of Starmist. The cover has a picture of a pretty gray-and-white horse running through a meadow. I like horse stories, and I’ve never seen this book before. Normally, I would be really excited about it (and if I’m being honest, I am a teeny bit excited). I just don’t want to show it.
“What do you think, Ruby? Can we read it?” Charlotte sees me looking at the cover. I quickly put the book on the stack. If I weren’t so mad right now, I might think how sweet it is that Charlotte is asking for my opinion first.
But I’m cranky. Not as cranky as a substitute we had once named Mrs. Cheer. But cranky. I shrug. “It’s not up to me. We all have to agree.” I look around at the rest of the Unicorns and Macarons.
“I say yes,” Jessica begins.
“I say yes,” Daisy continues.
“Me too,” Siri adds.
Then Charissa, Brooke, and Sophie speak at the same time, “Us too.”
That only leaves me—and Charlotte. “Ruby?” she asks.
I nod. “Starmist it is.” I sit down at the table again and open my bag of pretzels. Everyone else sits down too, except for Charlotte. She brings a copy of Starmist to each of us. (In lots of stories, the hero has a setback, and one of the other characters moves the story forward. It happens. But the hero is still the hero.) Pretty soon, the aide will blow the whistle, and we can get up from the table. On Thursdays, we act out plays, so my group is going to leave any minute. (Doing plays is not my favorite activity since it involves dancing.)
I’m running out of time. I have to make my announcement before it’s too late. So I do.
“With the library closing two days a week and no new books being ordered, the library needs our help. I think we can save the library.”
I offer my friends stick pretzels by holding out the open container. Everyone seems really excited to try to help.
“Does anyone have ideas about how to raise money?” I ask. I mean, a lemonade stand isn’t exactly a big moneymaker. And that’s probably all the experience the group here has ever had with earning money.
The ideas fly almost as fast as the corn cereal the boys are throwing at the other end of the table. Nail painting, bracelet making, babysitting, dog walking, tutoring. Then Jessica suggests a bake sale. “My sister’s gymnastics team has them all the time to raise money.”
>
Cupcakes, cookies, and books. I can’t think of a more perfect combination. Everyone else agrees.
“Let’s go ask Principal Snyder if we can have the bake sale at school,” Siri suggests. And that’s how all eight of us end up in the principal’s office.
Principal Snyder is probably the nicest principal in the history of principals. He knows every single student’s name in the entire school. When he walks by someone in the morning, he won’t just say, “Good morning.” He’ll say, “Good morning, Ruby.”
And when the students have a special dress-up day, he dresses up too. Which means today, we have a meeting with our principal who is wearing pajamas!
He gets chairs for all of us, and we take turns explaining the situation.
I begin. “We know that the library hours are only Monday, Wednesday, and Friday now. Also that Mrs. Xia can’t order any new books.”
Then Jessica adds on. “The library is really important to us. So we wanted to do something to help.”
Siri speaks up. “We thought we could have a school bake sale. And donate all the money to the library.”
Daisy talks then. “Would you give us permission to have it at school?”
Charlotte finishes. “Maybe after the Poetry Read next week?”
Principal Snyder sits forward in his chair like he’s really paying attention. He looks kind of silly sitting at the desk in blue-and-brown-checked pj’s. But I’m guessing we also look kind of silly sitting in the chairs in front of his desk in our pj’s. Jessica is in black-and-white onesie pajamas with a hood that has two little ears on it, so she looks like a panda bear. Daisy is even wearing a robe!
“I wish all my meetings were this inspiring,” he says with a smile. “I am really impressed that you all want to help the library. So not only am I giving you permission to have a bake sale, I’m also going to schedule it right now.”
The Fantastic Library Rescue and Other Major Plot Twists Page 5
