“There really isn’t any choice. You’ll have to get rid of most of them,” Mrs. Pringle said.
Nick stopped to tie his shoelaces in the library doorway, dropping his overdue books on the ground. Robyn stopped so suddenly behind him that I collided with her, sending her stumbling into Nick.
“Trevor!” she said in a furious whisper.
“I couldn’t help it. What’s the matter, anyway?” I said. Mr. Kowalski and the rest of our grade eight class should have been right behind us, but the hall was still empty.
“Shhh. I want to hear.” Robyn cocked her head toward the library interior.
Mrs. Pringle sighed. “I know. It was nice to get the donation, but most of these books are terribly out-of-date. We need new materials so badly. Building up a library takes time, but these kids need books now.”
I peered around the doorway and saw her talking to Ms. Thorsen, the new grade nine teacher. Unlike Mrs. Pringle, who was plump and wore her graying hair clipped back, Ms. Thorsen looked trendy with square black-rimmed glasses and short blond hair. I could almost imagine her as a DJ at a rock station.
Ms. Thorsen glanced into one of the boxes of books that was stacked on the floor. “There’s no budget left?”
“Not much. A big chunk of it went to buying computer equipment. We’ll need more money if we want books this year.”
Robyn burst into the library. “Mrs. Pringle, I know! We could have a fundraiser to buy books!”
Mrs. Pringle and Ms. Thorsen turned in surprise. Robyn’s face turned pink. “We were just coming in and heard what you said,” she explained as Nick and I followed her in.
Robyn continued. “We could raise the money,” she said. “It wouldn’t be hard. The school always has fundraisers.”
“Well, it’s a great idea, Robyn, but that’s just the problem. We do have a lot of fundraisers, and our parent council does most of them. I’m not sure we could get the support for another one.”
“Why couldn’t we do it ourselves?” Robyn persisted. “Trevor, Nick and I could do most of the organizing if you’re too busy.”
“We could?” Nick looked startled.
Robyn elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Yes, we could. I bet we could get other students to help. It would be fun.”
“Yeah, loads,” Nick muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.
Mrs. Pringle hesitated. “I don’t know, Robyn. It would be a lot of work to get it organized for this school year, and I’m not sure I’ll be here next year. It might be better to wait until September.”
“But we need books now. You said so,” Robyn pointed out. “What if we held a literacy fair? The whole school could help!” Her eyes lit up. “We could have a used book sale. We could sell all the donated books that the library can’t use!”
“That’s a great idea, Robyn!” Ms. Thorsen said enthusiastically.
“It would solve the problem of getting rid of these discards.” Mrs. Pringle glanced at the boxes full of books. “But there’s still a lot of books no one will buy—old textbooks and things.”
“That’s easy. We can donate those to charity.” Robyn gave an airy wave of her hand, then stopped. “But wait a minute, Mrs. Pringle. What do you mean, you won’t be here next year?”
Mrs. Pringle frowned. “I shouldn’t have said that. It slipped out before I thought. I don’t really know for sure. But with more students coming in for fall, there may not be room in the budget for a librarian.”
“That’s terrible!” Robyn cried.
Mrs. Pringle smiled, but her eyes looked worried. “That’s the way it is, honey. There’s only so much money, and teachers are necessities. The school can manage without a librarian.”
“I can’t!” Robyn burst out. Anger made her swell up like a toad. “Librarians are important!”
Mr. Kowalski, his curly brown hair more disheveled than usual, strode through the library door with the students. “Sorry, kids,” he said to us. “I had a phone call. The rest of the class had to wait. Have they been any trouble?” he asked Mrs. Pringle.
“Not at all.” She smiled. “Quite the opposite. While we were waiting, Robyn, Nick and Trevor volunteered to spearhead a literacy fair to raise money for the library.”
Mr. Kowalski took a sip from his coffee cup and wiped his bushy mustache. “Really? That’s sounds great. Let’s see if they can put the same resourcefulness toward their social studies project.” He faced the class. “Find a computer, kids, and get started. We only have twenty minutes left before lunch.”
I sat down at the nearest computer station and logged on. I only had time to type in my outline before Mr. Kowalski interrupted us.
“Everybody, stop and save, please. We have to pack up. It’s almost time for lunch.” He glanced at the clock. “Sorry this session was so short. I’ll see if I can book some extra time on the computers this afternoon with Mrs. Pringle.”
The bell sounded. Nick slammed his binder shut. “Let’s go! I’m starving.”
Robyn caught up to us in the hall, just as we passed the school office. Her gaze fastened on a grade seven boy who was standing near the office door. He was shifting uneasily from foot to foot and hiding something behind his back.
“Look!” Robyn whispered. She gestured toward the boy.
I looked. “So?”
“So, he’s up to something!” she hissed. “Can’t you see what he’s hiding?”
I stared. It was a lunch box—a pink lunch box with sparkly stars. The boy caught me looking, and his face turned red.
“He could be the lunch thief,” Robyn insisted. “Look at how he’s acting. He’s very nervous. That’s suspicious, if you ask me.”
“Yeah, but...” I started to object, but Robyn took off like a shot.
She strode up to the boy and demanded, “Where did you get that?”
The boy gulped. “Get what?”
“That lunch box.”
“What lunch box?”
“The one behind your back!”
The hall was crowded with students, and people turned to see what was going on. “I...um—” The boy started to sweat. He looked around wildly, as if searching for escape.
Robyn glared at him. “You stole it, didn’t you? You’re the thief who’s been ripping off lunches, aren’t you?”
His face went blank. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, but I didn’t steal anything, so mind your own business!”
At that moment, a small, curly-haired girl wearing a pink denim jumper came up.
“Thanks, Connor,” she said, taking the lunch box from him.
“The next time you forget your lunch, get Mom to bring it. Okay, Holly?” The boy said through clenched teeth.
“Okay,” the girl chirped. She skipped back to her class.
Connor gave Robyn a baleful glance and took off down the hall. Robyn turned back to us, completely crestfallen.
“Don’t worry, Robyn,” I said, fighting back laughter. “Even the best detectives make mistakes.” Nick kept his face turned carefully away and was making weird snuffling noises in an effort to control his own urge to laugh.
“Stop it, you morons,” Robyn scowled at us.
“You’re calling us morons?” Nick sputtered, finally giving in to a fit of laughter. It was contagious, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Loud guffaws erupted from both of us. The madder Robyn looked, the funnier it seemed. Nick doubled over and had to lean one arm on the wall for support.
She glared at us, her hands on her hips. “So tell me, brainiacs. Why was he hiding the lunch box, if it belonged to his sister?”
Nick snorted. “Think about it, Robyn. No guy wants to stand in the hall holding a pink lunch box. That’s like holding a sign that says, ‘I’m a dweeb.’”
“Oh.” Robyn paused. “I never thought of that.”
I managed to stop laughing. “You’re a girl. Pink lunch boxes aren’t a big deal to you.”
“Okay, so I was wrong.” Robyn shrugged. “I still think it’s Cray, anyway, but a good detective has to investigate every possibility,” she said in a pompous voice. “Come on, let’s go eat.”