The Fantastic Library Rescue and Other Major Plot Twists

by Deborah Lytton

  He stands up and walks to the door. I notice that he is wearing loafers, like my dad wears when he is in a suit. I want to giggle out loud. Loafers and pajamas definitely do not match. But you don’t giggle at the principal. And you really don’t giggle at the principal who has just agreed to let you save books. I let my imagination help me think of something else. Something that takes me on a journey far away.

  I am about to see the Queen of Make-Believe Land to ask her if I can visit some of my friends. All the characters that have ever been created in books live in her kingdom. She sits on a throne made of twigs and tiny pink and white flowers, and she is surrounded by her court of woodland animals. I see chipmunks and rabbits and a golden fox. There is even a silver-winged owl perched on the back of her chair.

  “How did you get here?” she asks. “My land is closed to outsiders.”

  “My imagination,” I tell her.

  “I have never met anyone like you,” the queen says as she sends a little rabbit to bring me a map made out of fairy dust and dreams. “You are welcome here. Stay as long as you like.”

  My hands are still holding the map, but it has disappeared. Because I am not in Make-Believe Land. I am here in Principal Snyder’s office.

  He is just coming back into the room holding a piece of paper. “I have officially scheduled your bake sale for next Thursday at the Fifth Grade Poetry Read.” I look at my friends and smile. I can’t believe this was so easy! We are going to save the library.

  He sits down at his desk again. “Now, the last thing we need to discuss. Would you like to make an announcement at the Friday morning assembly tomorrow?”

  We look at one another to see if we all agree. Everyone is nodding and grinning. I am grinning the most. “How about you join me for the flag salute?” he tells us. “Then you can make your announcement.”

  The bell rings at just that moment. We all thank Principal Snyder and hurry to class.

  All we have to do now is figure out what to bake.

  • • •

  The rest of the day zooms by like a spaceship flying across the galaxy. Gram picks me up, and I tell her about the bake sale right away. “Poetry and baked goods, what could be better?” Gram says as she squeezes me in a half hug. We’re walking to the parking lot for Grambus.

  “How about a little research trip?” Gram suggests. “We have time for a quick stop before we pick up Sam and Connor.”

  Gram always has the best ideas. That’s how I find myself in front of a counter of cupcakes at Lizzie’s Bake Shop. Lizzie’s is this really cute red-and-white bakery with rows and rows of cakes, cookies, and cupcakes. They are famous for mixing ingredients into the cake part of the cupcake. You can get chocolate-chip cupcakes or strawberry cupcakes, even peanut-butter-and-jelly cupcakes.

  “What should we try today?” Gram asks with a twinkle in her eye. One thing to know about Gram… She loves sweets as much as I do.

  “Maybe the rainbow-sprinkle cupcake and a coconut cupcake?” I have really been wanting a coconut cupcake since Grandpa’s birthday. (Especially since I never got to actually eat his birthday cake. But that’s a story for another time.)

  “One of each,” Gram tells the man behind the counter. Then she orders five more cupcakes. Four to take home for my family and one for Grandpa.

  “Just don’t let George see it,” I warn Gram. Abe’s labradoodle brother, George, is known for making super-gigantic messes. Gram and I think he does it to get Grandpa’s attention away from books. We are definitely a book-crazy family.

  Gram pays, and I take our cupcakes while Gram carries the bag with the others. Then we find a little bench outside. We sit side by side on the bench.

  “Ready?” Gram asks. We like to bite into our cupcakes at the exact same time.

  Mmm. This might be the best cupcake ever baked. (Fun fact about me: I’m a major cupcake expert from watching so many baking shows with Sam.)

  “So good,” Gram mumbles. “How is yours?”

  Pretty fantastic. But I take another bite to be sure. “Perfect.”

  “What kind of cupcakes do you want to make?” Gram asks after we switch and try each other’s cupcakes. I can’t tell which one I like better.

  “In the cooking shows, they add unusual ingredients like lavender or red bell pepper to the batter. I was thinking about making a pickle cupcake.”

  “A pickle cupcake!” I can tell Gram is disgusted by the way her nose kind of scrunches and her eyes open wide. Gram and I have matching green eyes (just like my mom), and I think I might scrunch my nose that way sometimes too.

  “I want to do something completely and totally Ruby.”

  Gram nods and then says, “A good seller finds a balance between something that is unique and something that appeals to the most people.”

  She’s trying to tell me that a pickle cupcake might not be a big seller. But Gram doesn’t know fifth graders like I do. Fifth graders love pickles.

  “I’ll take that into consideration,” I say. I don’t want to hurt her feelings because if I tell her she doesn’t understand the tastes of ten- and eleven-year-olds, it might make her feel old. One thing I have learned about grown-ups—they do not want to be told how old they are. Not that Gram is old. She’s not old old. She’s just older than my mom, which I guess she would have to be since she is Mom’s mom.

  “I have loads of cookbooks, so you let me know if you need any recipes,” she tells me. I finish my cupcake, and Gram takes the wrapper to the trash. Then she slips her arm around my shoulder. “Have I told you lately that you make me proud?” Gram squeezes me tight. My heart gets all melty like chocolate chips that you hold in your hand for too long. But they still taste good! “It’s easy to talk about doing things. But so much harder to actually do them. You’re a born leader, I tell you.”

  I hug Gram back. It’s the best feeling to know that someone loves you as much as Gram loves me. It gives me the courage to do anything. Even dance.

  And I do. I stand up and twirl around until my curls are whirling. I crash into the trash can and bump into the bench, but I don’t even care. Neither does Gram.

  Chapter 8

  Not the Only Baker in Town

  On Friday morning, I get to school early. My friends and I wrote out our announcement, and each of us has a different part to say. Mom has Dad take Sam and Connor to school so she can stay and watch me speak to the whole school.

  Because on Friday mornings, the entire school gathers in the auditorium. Every class sits in rows with the kindergarten kids up front and the fifth graders in the back. The Unicorns and Macarons all get here early too. Every one of us is in red and white.

  I am wearing a red-and-white-striped sweater with my jeans. Red and white are the school colors, and everyone is supposed to wear them on Fridays. My hair is pulled back into a ponytail because it’s a little windy today. Wind and my hair are not a good combination. The wind makes it even crazier than usual, so instead of looking like a lion, I look like a lion that just woke up and forgot to brush his hair. Since no one really wants to get up in front of the whole entire school and give an announcement with lion bedhead, I went for the ponytail.

  Jessica suggests that we practice once before the real thing. So we go over our lines. Jessica has the first line, and I have the last line. I’ve spoken at the assemblies before. But I’m not going to lie; my stomach has a few butterflies in it. They are spinning around my breakfast bagel and mixing it up with the orange juice. It makes me a little jumpy. Probably if someone tapped me on the shoulder, I would let out a little yelp. (Abe does that sometimes if we accidentally step on his tail. We would never do that on purpose, but sometimes his tail ends up in the most unexpected places.)

  The morning bell rings, signaling the start of the school day. Principal Snyder steps over to us before beginning the assembly. “Everyone ready?”

  We give him a
thumbs-up sign. Then he turns around and picks up the microphone. “Good morning, students! Is everyone ready for a terrific Friday?”

  He waits for kids to cheer.

  “I see a lot of red and white today, and I’m very proud of your school spirit. Now let’s all stand for the flag salute.”

  Everyone in the auditorium stands. The eight of us are already standing, so we turn to the flag and say the Pledge of Allegiance too. There’s a lot of noise in the room afterward as everyone sits down again. I never realized how loud we all sound. Maybe it’s more noticeable when you’re standing in front of everyone.

  Then Principal Snyder hands us the microphone. We stand in a line in our script order so that we can pass the microphone to each other one by one as we speak.

  Here is what we say:

  Jessica: “We are here today to tell you about a very special fund-raiser.”

  Siri: “To benefit our own school library.”

  Daisy: “So we can have new books and a place to read them.”

  Charlotte: “We are having a bake sale at the Fifth Grade Poetry Read.”

  Charissa: “Next Thursday after school.”

  Brooke: “So come support our library.”

  Sophie: “And have a cupcake or a cookie.”

  Me: “Because it’s all about saving books.”

  Everyone claps for us. Mom claps the loudest, I think. Principal Snyder gives us a wink. He looks way more principalish in his suit and tie than in his plaid pj’s. I hand him the microphone, and then we take our seats. Mrs. Sablinsky even smiles at me. (With teeth!)

  The rest of the assembly is short. This week we don’t win the class spirit trophy. It goes to Charissa’s class. Now they will get an extra recess and a Popsicle party. But it doesn’t bother me because we’ve won before and also because I need time to work on my poem in class today. Even if there was an extra recess, I would probably have to stay in the classroom and work.

  When we are dismissed, I walk with Siri and Charlotte to Room 15. At the door to the classroom, Will P is waiting for me. Today, he is wearing his red-and-white-checked socks in honor of the assembly.

  “Ruby, I think it’s a fantasmical idea to have a bake sale! The Polar Bears want to help bake too.”

  OK. This is one of those moments where someone is trying to be really nice and help me, except that I don’t want his help. Only if I say that, I will sound like the most selfish, awful person. It’s just that only one thought comes to mind when Will P offers to have his friends bake with us.

  I imagine I am standing in front of a table loaded with trays of brownies, cookies, and cupcakes. Suddenly, pieces of cereal are showering onto the baked goods, followed by a half-eaten salami sandwich, followed by pieces of cauliflower, and a chicken leg. Then a boy runs over to the table and fake vomits right next to my signature pickle cupcakes. After that, Will B picks his nose and wipes it on one of the cupcakes. No one knows which one he touched. Every one of the customers runs away screaming. All I can do is stand there and cry.

  With the tears pooling in my eyes at the thought of the horrific possibilities, I say to Will P, “I’m sorry, Will, but this is just a Unicorn and Macaron thing.”

  Yes, I am that selfish, horrible person. But there isn’t a high demand for fake vomit and food-fight leftovers at a bake sale. Gram said I have to find the balance between unusual and appealing. And the cupcakes Will P’s friends would bake are neither of those things.

  Yet when Will P walks away without another word, I realize I might have just lost a friend.

  And the worst part is that I deserve it.

  • • •

  The day kind of gets worse from there. Instead of journal time today, we have a math test and then a social studies test with an essay. Only afterward, instead of doing word searches like everyone else, I have to finish my poem.

  The deadline is today. I know this because Mrs. Sablinsky has said it about ten thousand times and also because she has it written on her white board in giant red capital letters.

  Only something happens to me.

  I can’t stop thinking about what I said to Will P. I need to focus, but I can’t be creative when I am so confused inside. I know having the Polar Bears participate would be a disaster, but I also know that it really hurts to be left out.

  So instead of working on my poem, I find Daisy and Jessica. Siri is a yard guard so she’s helping the younger students on the playground. Usually, I would have been out there with her because I’m a yard guard too. But for a very obvious reason that starts with the letter P and ends with the letter M, I needed to stay in class.

  Mrs. Sablinsky is letting everyone have free time after the tests, so she doesn’t notice that I am not at my desk. I tell my friends everything. I expect them to tell me that I should go apologize to Will P right away and let his friends bake too. But they don’t.

  “You did the right thing,” Jessica says with a definite nod.

  “For sure,” Daisy says. “Can you imagine what their cupcakes would look like?”

  “Or taste like?” Jessica adds. “Don’t even worry about it. I would have said the same exact thing.”

  Then why is my stomach clenching and my heart beating really superfast like I have just done a hundred sit-ups?

  Just then the bell rings for lunch. Oh no! My poem.

  If I don’t finish today, it will be late. And if it’s late, I can’t present it at the Poetry Read. How humiliating to be selling baked goods but not even have a poem to read!

  I hurry back to my desk and sit down really quickly to write. When Charlotte comes to get me, I wave her off and tell her I will meet everyone at the lunch tables. I keep writing. But it’s hard to create a brilliant ending when you are looking at the clock every single second.

  Which is what I am doing.

  “Ruby, time’s up. I need to go to a meeting now.” Mrs. Sablinsky’s voice comes from far away, like I’m underwater swimming with a humpback whale, and I can barely hear her.

  I keep writing.

  “Ruby,” she says again.

  It’s not done. It’s not done.

  “Time’s up,” she says again. Only this time I hear her clearly because she is standing right in front of my desk.

  I look up at my teacher, hoping she will understand. “I just need a little more time. Could I stay in at lunch?” Only the students who are in trouble stay in at lunch, but right now, I fall into that category. (Definitely Trouble with a capital T.)

  “If I didn’t have a meeting, you could stay. But as it is, I am already late. I’m sorry, Ruby. But if you aren’t finished, you won’t be able to participate in the Poetry Read. Rules are rules.”

  Mrs. Sablinsky loves her rules. And I know she never breaks them. She has told us that if she breaks a rule for one person, then it isn’t fair to all the others. I don’t even ask her to reconsider. I already know she won’t.

  And that’s how being mean to Will P backfires on me.

  I am racing my horse down a path toward a castle. If I can deliver this important letter to the king before sundown, he will grant me my very own castle on an island surrounded by pink dolphins. I have the letter tucked into my saddlebag. The roads are muddy, and my horse slips and almost falls down. But we race onward. Suddenly, someone steps out on the path. He wears knight’s armor. Red glasses cover his eyes underneath his hood. He waves to me and asks for help. His horse has slipped and fallen in the mud. I look at the sun, dipping lower and lower in the sky. If I stop, it will be too late and I will lose my reward. I decide to ride on, passing the knight in a splash of mud. Only at that moment, the letter slips out of my bag and disappears into the puddle. When I arrive at the castle, I present myself to the king, only to find that the letter is no longer there. The king sends me away without any reward at all.

  • • •

  My frien
ds want to spend all of lunch in the library looking at cookbooks. Mrs. Xia is especially touched to find out what we are doing for the library. Her eyes get misty, and then she hugs each one of us. She keeps saying we are very special girls.

  I don’t feel very special at this moment.

  I tell my friends about the poem and how I won’t be reading out loud. Daisy says she isn’t reading because she doesn’t like to get up in front of people. She will help me sell treats at the booth. It helps to know I won’t be alone. But it still stings a little.

  We’re sitting on the floor near the cookbook shelf. “We need to make sure we have lots of choices,” Charlotte says as we copy down recipes on index cards from Mrs. Xia.

  “Maybe we can each make something different,” Sophie suggests. “That way, we have eight types of sweets.”

  “I’d like to make brownies,” Daisy says softly. “My mom has a great recipe at home.”

  “Then I’ll do blondie bars,” Jessica says. “They kind of go together.” Jessica and Daisy have been besties since birth. Their moms were friends before they were born, so it was always expected that Jessica and Daisy would be a matched pair.

  Siri already knows what she wants to bring. “My dad makes a signature lemon bar. It’s deeeelish.” (That’s short for delicious.)

  “We need to have some cookies on the table,” Charissa comments. “I’ll make chocolate chip or sugar cookies.”

  Sophie and Brooke agree to make oatmeal and snickerdoodles.

  “Do you want to bake something together?” Charlotte asks me. “I was thinking of vanilla cupcakes with sprinkles.”

  “That’s a great idea.” I want to make this myself, not with my mom or Sam doing all the recipe reading. But having a friend there seems like more fun than being in the kitchen all by myself.

  “I have an idea to make something really different. Pickle cupcakes!” I expect my plan to cause a great deal of excitement or even a few Mmms. But it falls completely flat. Worse than flat even because one person says, Ewwwww. I’m not sure who says it because it comes out kind of quiet. (Secret fact about me: I have super-excellent hearing. Mom says I can hear things that even Abe misses. And dogs are supposed to have superior hearing skills.)