ALL VISITORS MUST CHECK IN AT FRONT DESK.
That’s what the sign on the front door of the school said. Abby pointed it out to Doc as they walked in the next morning. They skipped breakfast, heading straight for the library. They hurried past Ms. Ventura, the librarian, who was sipping coffee at her desk.
They opened the door to the storage room. Abraham Lincoln was in there, sitting with his feet up on the table, reading.
“Ready when you are,” he said.
Abby and Doc went in and shut the door behind them.
“Okay,” Doc said, “what we think you should do is—wait, do you hear that?”
There were voices outside the door. Ms. Ventura and a teacher. The voices were getting closer. Ms. Ventura was saying, “Yes, I have a few extra copies in the storage room. Hold on a sec, I’ll get one.”
“She’s coming!” Doc cried.
“Get in the box!” Abby said, tugging Lincoln’s sleeve.
“Why?” he said. “I just got out of the box.”
“You don’t have the sticker!” Doc said.
“Sticker?”
“Guests have to check in,” Abby said. “They’re really strict about it. They’ll kick you out!”
“Help me into the box!” Lincoln said.
But the voices were right outside the door.
“No time!”
Doc jumped onto the table and slid open the window. “Quick!”
Lincoln stepped onto the table and dove out the window.
Or, he tried to. His hips got stuck in the window frame.
The door opened, and Ms. Ventura came in. “Excuse me,” she said, “just need to grab something.”
She turned toward a wall of shelves. She did not seem to notice that behind her, in the window, Abraham Lincoln was kicking his legs like an upside-down bug.
Doc reached for one of Lincoln’s feet and gave it a shove. Lincoln slid out the window. There was a crashing sound.
“What was that?” Ms. Ventura asked, turning toward the noise.
“Soccer game,” Doc said. He was still standing on the table. “Nice shot, Gomez!” he shouted out the window.
The librarian just shook her head. She’d given up trying to understand Doc. She tucked a book under her arm and said, “Well, I’ll see you guys very soon.”
“We don’t have library today,” Abby said.
“That’s what you think,” Ms. Ventura said. “Can’t say more. It’s a surprise!”
She smiled and left the room.
The top of Lincoln’s hat was visible through the window. “Which way is the front door?” he asked.
“Hold on,” Doc said. “We’re coming.”
A few minutes later, Mrs. Martin, the attendance clerk, looked up from her computer.
“Good morning, Abby, Doc,” she said. Then she noticed a tall man standing next to them. “How may I help you?”
“Good morning to you, ma’am,” Lincoln said. He tipped his hat. “My name is Abraham Lincoln.”
“I can see that,” Mrs. Martin said.
“He’s here to visit our class today,” Doc said. “We just need to get him one of those stickers guests have to wear.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Martin said. She tilted her head back to look up at Lincoln. “Very nice costume. No beard, though?”
“Beard?” Lincoln asked.
“You know,” Mrs. Martin said, touching her chin.
“I’ll grow it soon,” Lincoln said. “I have come to meet with Doc and Abby’s class. So if you will kindly give me the proper pass, we can be on our way.”
Mrs. Martin was smiling. “He’s not bad,” she said to Doc.
Doc nodded. “We like him.”
“But it would be better with the beard,” she said. “You’re an actor, I’m guessing?” she asked Lincoln.
“I’m a lawyer,” he said.
“Makes sense,” Mrs. Martin said. “Can’t be much money in being an Abraham Lincoln, oh, what do they call it? Reenactor?”
“I also served one term in the United States Congress,” Lincoln said.
“Good for you,” Mrs. Martin said. “I’ll just need to see a picture ID.”
“Pardon?”
“Driver’s license, please.”
Lincoln looked at Abby and Doc.
“I don’t have one,” Lincoln said.
“How’d you get here?” Mrs. Martin asked.
“Hard to explain.”
“How do you get around?” she asked Lincoln.
“Old Bob,” he said.
“What?”
“That’s my horse,” Lincoln said. “His name is Old Bob.”
“I see,” Mrs. Martin said. “And what is your name?”
“Abraham Lincoln,” Lincoln said. “No middle name.”
Mrs. Martin wasn’t smiling anymore.
Lincoln started to spell his name: “A-B-R-”
“I know how to spell it,” Mrs. Martin cut him off.
“It sounds weird,” Doc said. “But he really is Abraham Lincoln.”
“Of course he is,” Mrs. Martin said. “I still need a driver’s license.”
“Okay, fine, he’s an actor,” Abby said.
“And he’s wearing a costume,” Doc said. “That’s why he doesn’t have his wallet. He forgot it in his real clothes.”
“Now that I believe,” Mrs. Martin said.
“So he can go in?” Abby asked.
“Absolutely not.”
Principal Darling stepped out of her office. She folded her arms across her chest and said,
