Out of the corner of her eye, Neda watches me climb up the oak staircase. It makes me feel all suspicious. Sorry, but I’m not a criminal. I’m a volunteer! And I’m going to be the best one ever, even though I’m in middle school. But Anna, the researcher, isn’t like that. She smiles when she sees me. She’s wearing a black top again. But her skirt is an awesome lime-green plaid. “Ready?” she asks.
“Yup,” I say.
She hops out of her desk chair. “It’s been a busy, crazy day. So many rush research requests. Only just finished lunch now.”
“Wow.” I look up at the clock over her desk. It’s already 3:30. I have a Spirit Week meeting with Bailey and the Bees at 4:45, so I’m going to try to sneak out of here in an hour without Neda seeing.
“So let me introduce you to some of our volunteers.”
Anna points to a fifty-something woman on a computer. “That’s Karen. She’s newer. And is working on a request.” Karen gives me a half wave. She wears little earrings with bananas on them. I guess fruit jewelry is a trend at the historical society.
“Karen’s a recently retired school librarian,” explains Anna. “But I’m not sure about the retired. She’s putting in some good hours around here.”
Karen glances up from the file folder on her lap. “I can’t help myself.”
Anna laughs. She strolls over to a wooden table to the left of the circulation desk and I follow her. “Karma, this is Dorina. She’s been a volunteer for eleven years and pretty much owns the place.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” says Dorina. She’s got one of those teased-up hairdos that is shaped like an upside-down artichoke.
“So today Dorina will be showing you around,” says Anna.
Dorina smiles at me and I see that she’s wearing feather earrings and a teal sweater vest.
“Teal is my favorite color,” I say.
“It’s my second favorite,” says Dorina. “Purple is my number one.”
I wonder if Neda has told her that I’m here on a trial basis. My legs start to bounce. They bounce harder when I think about how I have to sneak out of here without being seen since I’m supposed to be at the Spirit Week meeting at 4:45, and I’m supposed to stay here until 5:00.
I whip out my little spiral notebook.
“My, I can see you’re nice and prepared.” Dorina then shows me around, pointing out the different aisles and what’s in each one. It really does look a lot like a library, only messier, with more boxes and rolled-up maps and stuff.
Dorina gestures at the back wall, where there are all kinds of shelves. “There are your ephemera boxes, and over there we have—”
“Ephemera.” I like that word, even though I have no idea what it means. If I had Floyd I could look it up right away.
“Yes,” she says. “The index for them is over here. So the As start on the left back wall and then there you have the Zs on the back right. It’s where we keep the paper things. Newspaper clippings, brochures. No photos. It’s all archival quality to keep it from turning yellow. If you want to go through them, wear the gloves.” She points to a table where there are boxes of them.
I scribble as much as I can into my notebook. I peep up at the clock. I have to leave in forty minutes. Yikes.
“You don’t think there’s going to be a test, do you?” Dorina says, laughing. “Because just when you think you know where everything goes, they’ll do a reorganization around here just to mess with you.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
Next we walk over to another aisle and Dorina pulls out a thick binder. “This is one of my go-to spots. It’s a listing of buildings by city and street address.”
I nod, although I have no idea why you would need something like that.
“That’s a lot,” I say. I mean everything. Not just the binder.
She laughs. “This isn’t even half of it, honey. So why don’t you spend some time just sniffing around, getting used to what goes where. Just remember to put everything back exactly where you found it.”
I give a salute. “Will do!”
I spend time just being a general snoop. I’m peeking into another file when Karen rushes up to Dorina. They talk excitedly about something, and then Dorina whips out some binders.
“Aha!” says Dorina triumphantly.
Anna and I trot over to find out exactly what’s going on.
Karen explains that a woman from Texas claimed that her great-grandfather was born here in the county, but when they went for a family vacation and searched for his house, all they found was a grassy field. She thought he might have forgotten the right address or that maybe he wasn’t from around here at all.
“But I had a hunch and dug up some records.” Karen waves a Xeroxed piece of paper. “And I discovered that the woman’s great-grandfather, Ivan McMurphy, was an orphan.” She pulls a photo out of her file. “See. This is Ivan when he was a baby.”
I study the black-and-white photo. Well, it’s more brownish. Ivan has big, blond curls and a mischievous grin. “There’re no details here to tell you where this was taken,” I point out.
“Exactly,” says Karen.
Dorina’s smile now grows extra big. “So I looked at the organizational index and saw that the old orphanage was knocked down. And low and behold, I checked my listing file, and the address matched. Ivan was born in the orphanage!”
It’s sort of amazing, but all those files and boxes mean something. They work.
“Good job, ladies.” Anna claps her hands. “A perfect end to a crazy day.”
“Wow,” I say. “You used all of that”—I wave my hands at all the collected pieces of the past—“to solve a mystery.”
“Exactly,” says Karen. “That’s why I love this place.”
I peer at the photo of the orphanage. “Hey, it looks like the photographer cut off part of the building.”
Anna takes a closer look. “You’re right. You’ve got good eyes, Karma.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Glancing up from the photo, Anna smiles at me. “Have you ever taken a photography class?”
I shake my head. Why is everyone around here asking me that?
“You should. There’s a volunteer, Katherine, who works here. She was just telling me her son is teaching one at the community rec center. You should sign up.”
“Is it for”—I pause—“kids?” I’m afraid of Neda overhearing. If she thought there was a bona fide kid in here, she’d probably have a fit.
“Teens, I think. But if you’re twelve you can do it.”
It’s weird thinking of myself as old enough to take a class for teens, but then again, I’m almost thirteen and ready to be bat mitzvahed.
“From what I understand,” says Dorina, “he’s a really great instructor. He teaches one for older adults as well.”
Anna looks back at me as she strolls to her desk. “I think you’d enjoy it.”
“Maybe,” I say.
Click
The first thing I do when I get home is take Dad’s camera out of the cabinet in the family room. What would it be like to take a photography class? How different can it be? I pull the camera out of the case. It feels so much heavier than Floyd. It’s got a big lens that looks professional.
I take out the little instruction booklet and flip through it, reading the names of all the parts. Shutter release. Hot shoe for flash. Red-eye reduction light. Optical viewfinder. Lens barrel. So much stuff and that’s not even half of it. When I turn on the camera, it makes a satisfying whirring noise as if it’s happy. I push down on the button you use to take a picture, which I now know is called the shutter release.
Click. I take a photo of my hand.
Click. And the floor.
Click. And my dresser.
The camera works.
I pick up the instructions to read more when Mom calls my name. With the camera slung over my shoulder, I pad over to the kitchen. Mom is chopping up romaine lettuce for the salad. She asks me how it went
at the historical society.
“It’s weird,” I confess, “but the time went superfast.”
“That’s great, Karma.” She rinses the leaves in the spinner. Toby’s in the next room building his LEGOs. Her eyes graze my shoulder. “I see you’ve discovered Dad’s camera.”
“Yup,” I say.
“Hey,” calls out Toby, “I heard you say something was weird.”
“I thought the historical society would be full of spiderwebs, but it was actually kind of cool.” I explain how together Karen and Dorina solved a family mystery.
Later I go into Dad’s office and look up the word ephemera. It means something fleeting. Something enjoyed for a little while. Ephemera are also collected items, usually printed, that were supposed to be useful for a short time. I think about the boxes in the historical society. They preserve something that was supposed to be temporary, and it makes me think: If I could only pick a few items to box up and preserve forever, what would they be?
And then something hits me.
Something really bad.
I completely forgot about the Spirit Week meeting. Immediately I reach for my phone. Of course I can’t text on my poor Flippie. I’ll have to call. I hope nobody is too mad. Somehow, with all the excitement of finding out about the orphan guy, I lost track of the time. What is happening to me?
My Stats:
2 volunteers who solved a mystery
1 notebook for writing down stuff I don’t completely understand
0 balloons above Neda’s desk
1 camera with lots of buttons
1 photography class I might take
1 kind of cool community project that still might be temporary
Mood: Baffled that I forgot about the Spirit Week meeting and guilty that I abandoned Ella.
13
FRIDAY, MARCH 9: DAY 6 UNLIKED
Snollygoster
As I hustle to science, I am still feeling awful about missing the Spirit Week meeting. Ella promises me that not that much happened at the meeting, but it sure sounded like a lot. They decided on a theme for the dance, along with colors, and made up some kind of seventh-grade cheer.
My backpack is extra heavy because I have Dad’s camera in there. Auggie, Graeme, and Justin are a little ways ahead of me in the crowded hall. When I squint my eyes, their shoes blur together. I wonder if there’s a way to capture that with the camera.
Milton P. shuffles toward me, various airliner tags on his backpack flapping up and down. As he’s about to pass the boys, he clutches his shoe box tightly.
Auggie smiles at Milton P., now only an arm’s length away by the trophy case. I hate how cute Auggie looks when he smiles. I do not want to think Auggie is cute.
“Snollygoster,” he asks Milton P. in a light, happy voice, “bring an extra pair of Nikes for me?”
“Yeah, dude,” Justin says. “But I need a larger size. Do you have it in a ten?”
“No!” Face reddening, Milton P. freezes in front of Auggie. “There are no shoes in here. I have told you that for the one thousandth time!”
I start to speed up when I remember I have a test in science. Did I leave my prep sheet back in my locker? We’re allowed one page of notes when we take the test.
I sit down on the bench and unzip my backpack to see if my prep sheet is inside, and I hear Graeme say, “What’s in the box, Snollygoster? Something top secret? Keeping it from the government?”
I try to focus, pawing through my backpack and pulling out my big binder. Please. Please let my notes for the test be in there.
“Tell us, Snollygoster,” says Justin.
Milton P. squeezes his cauliflower-white hands. “Never.”
Seven minutes to get to science class. Whew. Okay. I did put my notes for the test into my binder.
I stand to go when Graeme dashes up to Milton P. and grabs his arm. I freeze in place. “Hang on, buddy,” he says in a syrupy voice. “We just want to talk.”
“Yeah, your shirt coordinates nicely with your shoe box.” Justin smiles. Graeme doesn’t let go of his hold on Milton, who’s red-faced and desperately trying to pull away. I frown at what I’m hearing.
“Let go of me. Get off!” Milton P. cries.
I open my mouth but hesitate.
Auggie whispers something to Justin and Graeme. They’re shaking their heads and laughing. My stomach burns with anger. Okay, I’ve had enough of them. Really.
I cross my arms. “What are you guys doing?”
Auggie looks at Graeme, who looks at Justin. “Just being friendly,” says Auggie, shrugging as a few kids thread around them.
Milton shakes out of Graeme’s grasp, then backs away and continues down the hall.
That’s when Justin sticks out his red basketball shoe.
Milton tumbles to the floor. His hands smack the tiles. I gasp along with kids passing by who slow down or stop walking altogether to stare.
He rolls like a log. The shoe box catapults out of his hands, skids across the floor five feet in front of him, and spins upside down. Somehow the lid stays on. A water bottle rolls toward the trophy case. I race over to Milton P.
From the other kids I hear, “That must have hurt” and “Ow.”
I crouch next to Milton P. My backpack slumps to the floor. His eyes are closed. I wish I knew CPR because he’s not moving. Auggie and his buddies shove forward to look.
I shake his arm gently. “Are you okay?”
“Sorry,” says Auggie. He’s come up behind us.
Milton P.’s eyes open and his apple-red cheeks turn even redder. Breathing hard, he sits up. He blinks. “I am fine,” he barks. But his eyes glisten.
I glare at Auggie and Justin and Graeme. Now that Milton P. is sitting up and seems okay enough, people continue on their way to the next class.
“You all right?” I ask Milton P. again.
He peers at me in a way I don’t understand. Milton P. scrambles for his shoe box, but some kid in a baseball cap strolling past accidentally stumbles over it. The box skids farther from him.
“Sorry,” the kid mutters, and continues down the hall.
Milton P. curls his hands into fists.
“Dude, I’m so sorry,” says Auggie. He sprints over to the shoe box and grabs it. He jogs over to hand it to Milton P., but Justin swipes it from Auggie.
“Looky looky what I got.” Justin shakes the box.
Milton P. scrambles down the hall. He grabs at the shoe box.
But Justin clutches it over his head. “What could be inside?” He juggles the box.
“Stop it!” I stand and yell as Milton P. claws at Justin, who lifts it higher over his head. “Money, candy, or Pokémon cards?” muses Justin.
The warning bell rings. Five more minutes to get to class.
Justin begins to lift a corner of the lid. My heart thuds in my chest. Auggie and Graeme look at each other with surprised expressions.
“NOOOOOOO!” screams Milton P. so loudly that I think the trophy case in the hallway has begun to shake. Justin holds the box out in front of him as if it’s a bomb that might explode.
One of the secretaries, Mrs. Ozer, rushes out of the office. Justin drops the box. Something rattles inside.
Milton P. screams again.
“What’s going on?” Mrs. Ozer’s eyebrows furrow as she sweeps her graying, hippie-long hair off her shoulder.
“It’s okay,” says Auggie, nodding at Justin. “He didn’t look. The lid’s still on.”
She glares at Justin. “Give that back to Milton P. right now.” Everyone knows about Milton P.’s shoe box.
Justin grabs the box and pushes it at Milton P. Then he backs up with his hands raised. “I was just messing around.”
“Are you okay, dear?” Mrs. Ozer asks Milton P.
His eyes dart around everywhere as if looking for an escape. “Yeah.” Milton P. checks inside the box to see if the contents are okay. His glasses steam up so that his eyes appear as blurry bits of blue. There are only three minu
tes until class now.
“Justin grabbed it away from him,” I say, fuming, my heart pounding. “He tripped him.”
“It was an accident,” protests Justin.
Mrs. Ozer glares at Justin. “If I hear another word from you boys, I’m going to bring you in for a little chat with Principal Wallace.”
“We’re sorry,” gushes Auggie. “Really.”
Milton P. continues to stare at the contents of the box. His face twists as if whatever is inside may be dying. He looks as if he wants to bolt, but probably the secretary standing there makes him stay in his spot.
I glance nervously up at the clock. I’ve got to get to class.
“Sorry, Milton P.” Justin smiles sheepishly. “We were just playing.”
“We’re supersorry,” adds Auggie. Staring at his feet, Graeme nods.
“Okay, get to third period,” says Mrs. Ozer as she makes a shooing motion. She glances around at the few kids still left hurrying to class. To everyone she announces, “You’ve got three minutes until the last bell.” Then she scurries back inside the office.
Milton P. picks up his backpack. Beads of sweat dot his forehead. Auggie grabs the water bottle that skidded out of Milton P.’s lunch bag. Wow. Maybe Auggie feels badly about what happened.
Milton P. stares down Auggie. “Do. Not. Help. Me!” His eyes fix on the water bottle that Auggie holds out to him. “Put it down.”
Auggie sets the water bottle on the ground. Scooping it up, Milton P. plods away down the hall. I want to cheer for Milton P.
“Wow, Justin,” Auggie says. Only he doesn’t say wow. He says a word much worse than wow. “Why did you do that?” he whispers, and glances at the door to the office. Justin fidgets. “You shouldn’t have tried to look in his box, dude,” says Auggie.
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