Mum’s been gone a long time now, but I still love that feeling of being in a library, surrounded by books and dreams. Sometimes I imagine I might look up from the shelves and see her sitting at one of the computers, the way she used to … In my dreams, she’d be searching the internet for me, trying to track me down, and I’d be right there. There’d be some kind of hazy, slow-mo reunion, all tears and hugs and happy-ever-after, and we’d ride off into the sunset together.
Yeah, right.
That’s why I love libraries, though … it’s not just the books; it’s crazy hopes and dreams. Miss Walker didn’t bat an eyelid when Bex and I scoured the shelves for books on how to be a detective, or when we read our way through endless Sherlock Holmes and Miss Marple novels. She let me borrow Frankenstein because she could see I’d fallen in love with the idea of it. Miss Walker must have scanned and stamped hundreds of books for me: everything from tortoise care and missing persons to Harry Potter. She makes us hot chocolate and lets us make a racket, and I hate the idea of horrible Men in Suits making her cry.
‘We’ll be late for school, obviously,’ Bex says. ‘Dental check-up, d’you reckon?’
‘Sure,’ I agree. ‘A little white lie for a good cause doesn’t really count …’
Miss Walker arrives, keys in hand, pink hair like candyfloss in the spring sunshine. Her face breaks into its usual smile as she sees us, and I tell myself that everything is fine, that we maybe got things wrong last night.
‘Hello, Bex! Hello, Lexie!’ she says, unlocking the door. ‘What’s up? Did you leave something last night?’
‘Nah … we were just worried,’ Bex says. ‘We wanted to find out what was happening!’
‘Yesterday, when we were leaving – you were crying,’ I add. ‘Is everything OK?’
Miss Walker’s smile slides away. ‘Oh, girls,’ she says. ‘It’s not OK, not really. We’ve been kidding ourselves, imagining we could escape the council cuts. The government have slashed funding again and there isn’t enough cash to keep all the services running. They’re looking for ways to cut back, and they’ve decided to close all the local libraries and just keep the big one in town.’
Bex says something unprintable and kicks the wall, making a scuff mark with her black school Docs.
My mouth drops open. ‘All the local libraries? But … they can’t do that, can they?’
‘I think they can,’ Miss Walker tells us, heading inside with us at her heels. She fills the kettle and sets out two extra mugs, opens a fresh packet of cookies.
‘Libraries are closing all around the country,’ she says with a sigh, making hot chocolates all round. ‘Hundreds of them in the last few years … the figures are frightening. We’ve been lucky to escape this long. I don’t know what will happen next, but I have a bad feeling … a very bad feeling!’
‘It’s not our fault, is it?’ I check. ‘The band? We did make a racket last night!’
She shakes her head. ‘Nothing to do with that,’ she assures us. ‘It’s all about money, I’m afraid.’
We sip our drinks, thoughtful.
‘But … all those meetings!’ Bex argues. ‘You said everyone was determined to keep the library open!’
‘Everyone except the council,’ Miss Walker says. ‘They’re saying the building needs repair – that it’s unfit for use. It’s not perfect, but it’s hardly derelict, is it? It looks like we’re stuffed, basically …’
‘No way!’ Bex rages. ‘We’ll fight it all the way – we won’t let this happen! They just can’t!’
Miss Walker leans against the counter, shoulders sagging. ‘We’ll fight,’ she tells us. ‘We won’t just roll over and let them win!’
But Bex has the shine of angry tears in her eyes, and she never cries, not ever.
I think of the letter I’ve just posted. Writing letters is what I do, but it seems childish now, and futile. One letter – what good can that do? It would take a lot more than that for the council to sit up and take notice. An avalanche of letters, maybe? The seed of an idea begins to grow in my mind, and the ghost of a smile lifts my spirits.
‘We’ll all help,’ I say, as brightly as I can. ‘We’d better run now, though. We’re late for school already …’
‘Dental appointment,’ Bex says sadly, biting into another cookie.
‘One last thing,’ Miss Walker says. ‘They’re putting us on shortened hours from now on – we’ll be closing at five every night. No more band practice. You’ll need to find another place to rehearse. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I’ll tell the others. We’ll find somewhere else. And we’ll think of something to stop them, Miss Walker. We won’t let the library close, I promise!’
I have no idea if it’s a promise I can keep. Rescuing a library may be a step too far, even for me.
13
A Plan
‘I should have gone to those stupid consultation meetings about the library,’ Bex tells me as we head into school. ‘I never bothered to show my face. Miss Walker said the library had tons of public support, but look what’s happened! If I’d been there, maybe I could have made the council understand …’
‘Don’t you think people have been trying?’ I argue. ‘Bex, it wouldn’t have made any difference; they were determined to find a way to do this. What we have to do is find a way to stop them.’
We sign the late book, then loiter by the noticeboard.
‘I’m going to do a petition,’ Bex says. ‘This is serious.’
‘OK,’ I agree. ‘We need as many ideas as we can get … I’ll text everyone to meet at lunchtime, tell them we’ve lost our practice space. Maybe someone will think up a way to stop all this.’
‘Maybe,’ Bex says. ‘In the music room? Half twelve?’
‘See you then …’
Lee Mackintosh is playing his mournful intro to our ‘Back Then’ song when I head into the music room later on with Bex, Happi and Romy.
By that time, Bex has collected one hundred and thirteen signatures on her hastily made petition. (OK, it’s actually her French exercise book, or was, but that’s a detail. The point is, she is very persuasive.)
Happi, whose mind works along the same lines, blagged her way on to the computer in maths (she can wind Mr Singh round her little finger) and managed to set up an online petition, which is gathering names almost as fast.
Now, with the band gathered too, I can sound out my letter-writing plan.
‘What’s up, boss?’ Marley asks, lounging on a desk top with his little brother, eating chips. ‘Written a new song? Enlisted Taylor Swift to take over from Sasha? Got us a headlining gig at Glastonbury?’
‘None of those,’ I say. ‘I’m still in shock I wrote a song at all, I’d rather have Sasha sing than Taylor Swift any day, and I don’t think we’re quite at the Glastonbury stage yet. Soon, though! No, this is something that will affect us all. Remember those blokes lurking around with clipboards last night, as we were going into the library?’
‘Sour-looking dudes,’ Dylan says.
‘That’s them,’ I agree. ‘Well, turns out they were from the council and they’re trying to shut the library. No more free practice room, no more band … and, worst of all, no more library!’
The others look a mixture of confused, unimpressed, angry and bored.
‘Sucks about the practice room,’ Marley says with a shrug. ‘But we’ll find somewhere else – I’ll ask around. Maybe we can practise here?’
I narrow my eyes. ‘For a fee, we can,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve already asked. After school hours, classrooms and halls are rented out to the public to raise funds for the school and, trust me, we can’t afford it. The only way it’s free is if we’re doing a school play or an after-school club or something … the whole place is off-limits unless there’s a teacher or a caretaker to supervise. ‘
‘Lunchtimes?’ Sasha suggests, but I shake my head again.
‘Lunchtimes here are so short … we’d barely have a chance to
get started before we’d have to pack up,’ I point out. ‘I don’t think Mr Simpson would be sympathetic about the noise, either – it’s GCSE time, remember!’
‘You’re right,’ Marley replies. ‘This is where having such a big line-up gets awkward. We need a large hut in the middle of nowhere with soundproof walls and hot chocolate, squash and cookies on tap …’
I roll my eyes.
‘I’m sure we’ll find another practice space,’ I say. ‘With or without the hot chocolate and cookies. You’re missing the point, Marley – we can’t just let them close the library! It’s … well, it’s our library!’
‘You can keep it,’ Marley says. ‘Libraries are outdated anyway. I get enough of books at school!’
‘Not quite enough, clearly,’ Bex snaps. ‘Or maybe you’d do better in your exams and be a bit more clued up on stuff. This is not all about you, Marley Hayes!’
He shakes his head, laughing, but Bex is fierce once she gets started.
‘You think books are outdated?’ she pushes on. ‘What would you prefer, Marley? A society where people only learn what their computer tells them? Where they’re kept ignorant of what’s going on around them, ignorant of the past, oblivious to what the government might be getting up to? Because that’s the way we’re heading. We’ll all be too busy watching TV and playing our virtual reality computer games. We’ll stop caring, stop thinking, stop asking questions. We’ll just be couch potatoes, brainwashed and useless.’
‘Don’t hold back now, Geek Girl!’ Dylan sniggers, and Bex chucks the French book full of collected signatures at him. It lands on top of his perfectly gelled quiff before sliding off on to the floor.
‘Nice shot,’ Marley comments. ‘Bet you didn’t learn that in a book …’
‘I did, actually,’ she snaps. ‘A Beginner’s Guide to Dealing with Irritating Little Boys, I think it was called.’
Dylan scowls, but when Bex picks up the French book and asks him to sign the list at the back, he does it without complaint. The petition makes its way around the group, and Bex asks everyone to sign Happi’s online petition too, and share it with their families.
‘My mum will sign, definitely,’ Romy promises. ‘I borrow loads of books from Bridge Street Library for her. The library in town is good, but it’s a very long walk, and we don’t have the cash to spare for bus fares …’
‘My lot’ll sign too,’ Jake agrees. ‘My little sisters love the library. We use it loads …’
I fling Marley a told-you-so look, and he holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. ‘OK, OK, so some people like libraries,’ he admits. ‘Whatever floats your boat … it’s a free world!’
‘That’s just what it’s not,’ I point out. ‘Not for the likes of us, not once they close the libraries. C’mon, Marley! Once they close it they won’t be opening it again, will they? And that nice Miss Walker who brings you hot chocolate and cookies – she’ll lose her job …’
‘Nah,’ Marley argues. ‘They’ll just move her to another library.’
I sigh, exasperated. ‘You’re not listening, Marley. They’re closing all the local libraries. And it’s not like there are a whole lot of other jobs around here, huh?’
‘She’s right,’ Lee chips in. ‘My dad’s out of work, and he uses the library computers for his job search every day. He’ll be stuffed if it shuts …’
‘See?’ Bex tells Marley crossly. ‘Just because you’re only interested in fighting, flirting and playing guitar, don’t think others are the same!’
She collects up the paper petition again, and Happi asks everyone to share the online version on social media with a hashtag to get it trending.
‘I just wanted to tell you this as a group because it does affect us all,’ I say above the rumble of chat. ‘I’ve written a letter to the council to tell them to keep the library open. I think we should all write letters – and get our families involved … friends … neighbours. If the council just see how much we all care, they’ll have to reconsider!’
‘Don’t hold your breath,’ says Marley.
‘He might be right, for once,’ Bex considers. ‘I’m not sure if our feelings count for all that much to the council, but if we get the local paper involved, that might help. Something to make them sit up and take notice!’
‘Forget the libraries,’ Marley snaps. ‘We have more important things to worry about. Keep your eyes peeled for a new rehearsal space, and make sure you practise this weekend. The band comes first. We can’t let this ruin things for the Lost & Found, OK?’
The bell screeches to send us to afternoon lessons, and we scramble. Marley tugs at my arm as I head out of the door, but I shake him off, annoyed. His lack of interest in the library feels like a betrayal, and I feel stupid for imagining he’d want to stick up for me.
He leans towards me and I see a fresh cut on his jaw, a row of skinned knuckles on his right hand. He’s been fighting again too. Great.
‘I love it when you’re angry,’ he whispers, and I’m glad he can’t see the spots of pink that burn my cheeks as I stalk away.
14
A Date
From the far corner of the science lab on the third floor at school, you can see the park. It’s just a tiny patch of distant green glimpsed beyond the rooftops, but it’s still the park, and I look out longingly now because the sun is shining and it reminds me so much of days gone by.
We always made the most of the sunshine, Mum and I. We’d pack a basket with jam butties and orange squash and apples and head to the park. It had been a bus ride away when we lived on the Skylark Estate, but that just made it more of an adventure. We’d walk down from the bus stop and run across the grass laughing, spread our picnic shawl out beside the old bandstand. From there, you could see a big, beautiful Victorian mansion called Greystones.
‘Imagine living there,’ Mum would say wistfully. ‘This park we’re sitting in was once part of their private grounds, but they still have plenty of garden left, hidden away behind the fence. It’s a funny place – just one old lady, living alone, and a load of hippy-dippy hangers on – shall we move in, Lexie? What do you think?’
‘We could be princesses,’ I said, because Greystones looked to me like a real live fairy-tale castle.
‘Well, you’re my princess, always!’ Mum had laughed and hugged me close.
‘Lexie? Lexie, you’re dreaming!’ Happi’s voice cuts across my thoughts. ‘That’s the last bell … come on!’
We pick up our bags and head for the door. Jake, who’s in the same science class, falls into step with us, and Bex is waiting for us in the corridor.
‘Want to hang out in the park for a bit?’ she asks. ‘It’s actually sunny for a change, and we can grab ice creams if the van’s in the park. You too, Jake, if you want …’
‘Well … OK … why not?’
Minutes later, the four of us are walking towards the school gates. The buses are pulling away and most people have gone, but I spot Marley sitting on the wall, guitar slung nonchalantly over one shoulder.
I think about asking him along to the park too, then change my mind abruptly.
‘All right, guys?’ he says, jumping up and wandering over. ‘’Fraid I’m going to have to steal Lexie off you all for a bit. Thought we’d hang out at the Leaping Llama, yeah? Go over some band stuff …’
I’m speechless. Where does this boy get off? He’s too sure of himself by half – just jumping in, assuming I’ll come with him without even asking. To my shame, I’m torn between wanting to drop everything to go with him and irritation at his cheek.
Happi and Jake look embarrassed, awkward, but Bex just curls her lip, scathing. ‘So, Lexie, going to let yourself be stolen?’ she taunts, and that tips the scales.
‘No,’ I say, firmly and clearly. ‘No, I’m not. Sorry, Marley – if you want to meet up, it’ll have to be another day. You could try asking me, and then I can check to see if I’m free – that’s usually how it works. I’m sorry – I’ve got plans right n
ow.’
Marley’s face falls, and I wonder for a moment if I’ve blown it. Will he ditch my dodgy songwriting skills and ask Sasha or Soumia to work with him instead? Will he ditch me full stop? Switch his flirty attentions to someone new? I feel better for speaking out, even so. I am not a doormat. I get to decide what I will or won’t do in this life, nobody else, and, no matter how cute Marley Hayes might be, he doesn’t get to boss me around.
‘Is this because I’m not on board with your stupid library thing?’ he is asking. ‘C’mon, Lexie. The band comes first, that’s all!’
‘Does it?’ I challenge. ‘Can you play guitar OK with skinned knuckles then? Lucky it wasn’t anything worse, like broken fingers. Did the band come first when you decided to get into another fight?’
‘It was nothing,’ Marley growls. ‘Just some chancer throwing his weight about.’
‘Sure,’ I say with a sigh. ‘Same as last time. Look, Marley, I’ve got to go …’
‘I’ll call you then,’ he says, slightly sulky. ‘Arrange something, maybe.’
‘Yeah, you do that.’
‘Oooh, burn …’ Bex says, under her breath, but not so quietly that Marley can’t hear. ‘Right, guys – let’s go. See you around, Marley.’
‘Lexie, don’t be like this,’ he cuts in, catching my arm as I start to head after the others. ‘Let’s not fall out! What’s the big deal? I’m sorry if I came over a bit … too sure of myself, maybe? Bossy? I didn’t think. Story of my life. But I didn’t mean to be rude – you know that, right?’
‘I guess,’ I whisper. ‘Marley, I can’t talk now …’
‘When can you talk then?’ he presses. ‘Tomorrow? We could do something then. Saturday afternoon?’
I want to say yes. I want to say yes badly, even though this boy is almost certainly not the boy I think he is, the boy I want him to be. He’s a mess, battered and bruised with a side order of rude and selfish, but I like him anyway. My traitorous heart can’t quite help it. The problem is that Saturday afternoons are when I hang out with Bex and Happi – if I ditch them for Marley I will never hear the last of it.
Love from Lexie Page 6
