The Librarian (Book One: Little Boy Lost)

THE QUESTION WASN’T clear over the roar of chaos coming from the back of the bus. Wesley was pretty sure he knew who’d asked it, though. It was a familiar voice after all, one that constantly left him with a stomach full of knots.

  
“I
said,
since when do you do homework on the bus?”
 
Closer this time, there was no mistaking the bully’s voice.

  
“Find a seat, Mr. Stanford!” Ms. Easton shouted from a seat directly behind the driver.

  
Not here
, Wesley thought.
Not here! Not here! Not—

  
Wesley looked up just in time to see Randy knock his backpack to the floor, making room before he plopped down in the long seat beside him.

  
“Wait a minute,” Randy said. “Did we even
have
homework?”

  
“I-it’s for the writing contest,” Wesley explained, trying to lose his stutter so he could talk his way out of this. Small talk was usually his best bet when trying to escape an encounter with Randy Stanford unscathed.

  
“But that’s extra credit.”

  
“I know, but the winner gets—“

  
Randy cut him off. “
You
don’t need extra credit, man.
I
need extra credit.” Wesley’s stomach flipped as Randy’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Why don’t you give it to me?”

  
“No way!” Wesley turned away from Randy, using his slight frame as a shield between Randy and the binder on his lap.

  
“Dude?! Why do we have to go through this
every
time?” Randy muscled in, using superior size and strength to his advantage. He snatched Wesley’s wrist, and with a single twist, sent an array of sharp pain splintering up the boy’s arm and into his shoulder.

  
“Oww!” Wesley winced. “Okay! Okay!”

  
Randy wrenched Wesley’s arm a bit further before finally letting go. He didn’t need Wesley crying. Wesley wouldn’t tell – he knew better – but if Ms. Easton saw tears he’d get the blame and would have to spend the entire trip tied to the old bag’s hip. “Hurry up.”

  
Wesley popped the rings on his binder, removed the paper and handed it over. Even now, he refused to lower his defenses and flinched when Randy reached for the sheet of loose-leaf paper.

  
“Dang, man. Relax.” Randy scanned the essay. “Let me get your pencil,” he said. “I can’t hand it in like this.”

  
Wesley gave Randy his Yellow No. 2 and watched as the bully went to work. When he was done, Randy’s name was scribbled across the top of the paper though Wesley could still see the ghostly remains of his own beneath the new.

  
Randy stood up and stepped into the aisle; he cocked his head and looked down at Wesley with a smirk. “Thanks!” The word was greasy and seemed to slither off his lips. Wesley didn’t hear “thanks” at all. To him, that single word meant: “Pleasure doing business with you. See you next time.” It was a rough translation, but Wesley knew that was exactly what Randy meant.

  
“C-can I get my pencil back?”

  
“Oh yeah.” Randy let the pencil dance across his fingers in a flourish then held it out, waiting for Wesley to meet him halfway. When Wesley did, Randy snapped the pencil in two and let its splinters fall to the floor.

  
“Randy!” Ms. Easton hollered. “Sit down!”

  
“I’m going! I’m going!” He swaggered down the aisle, moving back to his seat where Caleb Rodriguez greeted him with a well-rehearsed knuckle bump. “See,” Randy began with a nasty laugh. “I told you I was gonna enter the writing contest.”

  
Toward the front of the bus, Wesley was already on his knees, collecting the items that spilled from his bag when Randy shoved it so recklessly to the floor. His hands were trembling as he pushed a comic book back into its home. He was fighting tears when he put a large ball made from rubber bands into one of the bag’s velcro pockets. It took a moment, but he finally found his hand-held video game under the next seat and was thankful Randy hadn’t seen it before leaving. He put the game away, then sank into his seat as far from the aisle and as close to the window as he could get, praying he’d disappear into the background like normal. He stayed that way the rest of their drive, only stirring when the Astoria Library suddenly appeared outside his window.

  
Looming like a stone dinosaur from another age, the building looked strangely out-of-place in the Astoria skyline. Wesley thought it looked like a castle from a short story he’d written a few weeks before. He imagined an ancient time, centuries ago, long before the building was Astoria’s library, when armies from every corner of the world took turns storming the gate, each determined to obtain the treasures hidden inside.

  
Wesley stared through the window with wonder, completely unaware just how close his imaginings were to the truth, completely unaware that once inside he wouldn’t be able to disappear. There’d be nowhere to run from his problems. No place to hide at all.

WESLEY STOOD IN the aisle, ready to climb off the bus with the rest of his class. While he had recovered from his run-in with Randy, his skin grew hot with anxiety when Ms. Easton began instructing her students from a spot just inside the bus door.

  
“Have your essays out and ready,” she explained. “Then pair up with your partner and line up with Ms. White outside the gate.” Wesley felt his chest tighten. He wondered if Ally Asthma would let him take a hit from her inhaler. Maybe that would help. Somehow Randy and Caleb had elbowed past him and moved closer to the door. Both had a carefree air about them – not a worry in the world.

  
One at a time the children filed down the steps and off the bus. Each handed their paper to Ms. Easton as they went. Wesley watched from the top step as Randy made his way to the head of the line.

  
“Wow!” the teacher said. Her voice rose an octave with surprise as she took the essay from Randy.
Wesley’s essay.
“Looks like I’ll have something good to tell your dad today, huh? He still picking you up when we’re through?” Randy responded with a confident nod. “Okay, good. I want to see him before you leave.”

  
“Sure thing, Ms. Easton.” He flashed a crooked smile – a conman’s grin – then moved to join Caleb just outside the library’s tall wrought-iron gate.

  
Wesley was next, but a short girl in pig-tails had stolen Ms. Easton’s attention, already demanding to know when they’d be breaking for lunch. “My yogurt’s getting all warm,” she whined. “I hate when it melts like that and gets all watery.”

  
This was his chance. Wesley pushed his glasses up on his nose then slinked by them, chin buried in his chest until—

  
“Wesley?”

  
Dang it!
He turned, slow and reluctant. Apparently the girl’s ridiculous question didn’t warrant much time.

  
“Where’s your essay, Wes?”

  
“I... I...” He searched for answers on the sidewalk, unable to look Ms. Easton in the eye. “I forgot.”

  
“Oh.” Her surprise came in a hushed tone this time. “Well, that’s a shame. Oh well. It was extra credit, anyway. Not like you need it, right?” Wesley cringed. That was the second time he’d heard that today. She gave him a quick rub of the head before turning her attention back to the students still waiting to climb off the bus.

  
Wesley turned away, his backpack slung over one shoulder, hands balled into tiny fists and shoved into his pockets. For a brief moment he thought he saw someone watching from one of the building’s high windows but assumed his mind was playing tricks on him when he checked again and found there was no one there.

  
“You shoulda told her.” It was another familiar voice.

  
Taylor Williams was standing behind Wesley and wearing a blue butterfly clip that held her golden hair in a cascade that fell all the way down her back.

  
“And get pounded into flatbread? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

  
Wesley started to leave, but Taylor was persistent. She was always persistent. “Eventually he’s going to take something that
does
count against you,” she said. “You know what you should do? You should just look at Randy and—“
 

  
“You always do that,” Wesley said. “Why do you care?!” He wanted the words back the second they were gone.

  
Taylor lowered her eyes. “I... I... I don’t know.”

  
With the bus empty, Ms. Easton was instructing her class on the move. “Does everyone have a partner?” Kids were standing in pairs all around her; it was the only answer they offered. She handed a stack of papers to Ms. White, a silver-haired teacher there to help. “Be sure to stay with the group. No wandering off. You’ll have plenty of time to explore
after
we’ve taken the tour.”

  
Ms. Easton led her class down a long sidewalk through the library’s gate and toward the stone building’s entrance where she struggled to open one of the library’s heavy, wooden doors. Looking back, she extended her free hand, showing the kids her thumb and forefinger were just a sliver apart. “Let’s remember this is a library. Let’s use our tiny voices once inside.”

  
She held the door open and children began to walk into the building one pair at a time. Near the back, Wesley and Taylor exchanged an awkward look.

  
“I’m sorry,” Wesley conceded. “I just... I didn’t mean to yell at you like that. It’s just, Randy—“

  
“I know, Wes.” She wasn’t going to let him go any further down that road, and he was grateful for it. He wasn’t sure where that particular path was going anyway.

  
“Who’s your partner?” Wesley asked, eager to change the subject.

  
A warm glow blushed Taylor’s cheeks. “Who’s yours?”

  
The answer was obvious, and each moved closer to the other, their shoulders brushing briefly as they took their place at the end of the line. Wesley looked up just as they were about to enter the building. This time he caught the shadow in the window before it had a chance to move away. A wrinkled face was watching the children file into the building, peering down at them from above.

DAY TURNED TO night as Wesley and Taylor stepped through the door. The building’s lobby was cool and dark, a stark contrast to the bright, sticky day they’d left behind.

  
“Smells like history in here,” Taylor whispered. Wesley grinned. There was dust and leather in the air, aged paper and wood. It was an odd way to describe a smell, but if Wesley needed to do it with a single word, “history” was probably just as good as any.

   
A chubby boy turned to look at Wesley and Taylor. “Here’s a little hist’ry for ya.” The boy scrunched up his face and let a fart that cut through the small group of kids like machine gun fire.

  
“Ugh! Jeff!” Taylor shoved the boy forward and he bumped into the kids ahead of him, quickly earning their ire as well. “Why’s he gotta be so nasty?”

  
“That’s enough,” Ms. Easton said. “Let’s keep it moving.”

  
The kids were bunched together in the lobby and it took a moment for traffic to thin so Wesley and Taylor could continue into the library’s main hall. Ms. Easton came in behind the children and smiled when she saw that most of her students were already in awe of their surroundings.
 

  
The building was made of cool, dark stone. Giant blocks, one on top of the other. Its architectural elements were cut from exotic woods. There were no signs of the modern world at all: no computers, no copy machines, no plastic chairs or tables. Golden light streamed from brass fixtures on the walls, but they were powered by gas rather than electricity. The light was different, soft and warm.

  
The kids gaped at everything around them. The exquisite details were endless. Nothing was ordinary. Everyone felt the same. This wasn’t their library. It wasn’t even their parents’ library. People didn’t make buildings like this anymore, and they hadn’t in hundreds of years. It was like the entire class had stepped into one of the early chapters of their social studies book.

  
Even Randy was taken aback by the building’s stunning interior. His jaw hung slack until Caleb gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs.

  
“Whatever, man!” Randy scoffed, trying to regain his “cool.” He pointed to the hall’s upper level which hovered above them. “How much you give me if I jump off that railing?” Caleb shook his head, laughing.