Tuesday began with a flurry of activity. Hazel’s buttons had been noticed all through the school. Before classes even started, the Library was filled with children, parents, and teachers, all trying to find out more about the please-save-the-library campaign.
“Come ON,” yelled Alfie. “Let’s LISTEN!”
And before Eddie could stop him, he ran right out into the open, racing pell-mell along an electrical cord. Eddie gasped and dashed after him.
Seconds later they were both huddled behind a gray plastic box with cords plugged into it like the legs of an octopus. Alfie was quiet—a situation that might have had something to do with Eddie’s deathly tight grip on his mandibles.
Together they listened to a group of adult Squishers. Parents, guessed Eddie.
“I don’t get it,” said a mother. “Save the library from what? Ms. Grisch, do you know?”
The Grischer cleared her throat. “Perhaps . . . excessive costs?”
“Costs?” said a father. “Of course there will be costs. Worth every cent, if you ask me. Just look at this space book. Amazing!”
The Grischer tried again. “But we have the internet now and . . .”
“The internet?” said someone else. “Hah! Ask the internet something, and you get 1000 answers, most of them useless. How are kids supposed to deal with that?”
“My kids love this library,” said the father.
“Well, then, what are we saving it from?”
“I don’t know,” said the first mother. “But it’s all Hazel talks about.”
“It has something to do with Miss Cavendish,” said a father who had just arrived. “Remember when we read to her dog?”
“Charlotte Brontë!” said the first mother.
Everyone laughed.
Alfie, meanwhile, was squirming madly. He had just noticed some children on the floor on the other side of the desk.
“COME ON!” he yelled, breaking free of Eddie’s grip.
Fortunately the adult Squishers were far too busy to notice a small black bug running helter-skelter along the wall, followed closely by a larger and much greener bug.
Alfie charged underneath a book cart. Eddie was right on his tail. He dragged his little brother behind one of the cart’s wheels. “That’s IT! You STAY here!”
“Shh!” said Alfie. “They’ll HEAR you!”
But the children, like the adults, were far too busy to notice the bugs. There were six of them, kneeling on the floor.
“What are you guys doing?” asked a new boy who had just arrived.
“Making posters,” said Hazel. “Marigold thought it up. Want to make one? Here, look at mine.”
She held it so the boy could see. Eddie and Alfie could see, too. It had drawings of books and book characters around the edges. In the middle were large printed letters that said:
PLEASE
SAVE
THE
LIBRARY
Wesley, a boy Eddie knew from Room 19, spoke up. “Want to see mine?”
It said:
PLEASE
SAVE
THE
FERNY CREEK
LIBRARY
“Hey!” said Hazel. “Cool.”
“Yeah,” said Marigold. “Wesley’s printing even looks like the stickies, too.”
That was just the start. The hubbub went on all day. Posters, buttons, chatter. In the small world of Ferny Creek Elementary, the story of the little yellow stickies was becoming a very big deal. It spread through the school like mayflies on a warm spring evening. Nobody quite understood what was going on. (Well, of course not. How could they?) But everyone was intrigued.
The question on everyone’s mind was the same: “Save the Library from what?”
That was the question the reporter from the Ferndale Sentinel asked when she visited the Library that afternoon.
“Save the Library from what?” she asked Ms. Grisch, pen and notebook in hand.
“Why are you asking me?” replied the Grischer. “Why don’t you ask . . . the Principal?”
But the Principal, it seems, was busy elsewhere. He didn’t turn up in the Library till late afternoon. And when he did, he was bouncing on his toes.
“Oh, Ms. Grisch,” he said. “Isn’t it wonderful? All this support, this interest in the Library?”
The Grischer didn’t answer.
“Yes, well . . . ,” said the Principal, “here’s what I wanted to tell you. Some parents have been asking—quite a few parents actually, and they’re meeting tonight—whether we might change the name of our Library. The teachers have asked the same thing. They all feel this is long overdue. So what do you think about changing the name of our Ferny Creek School Library to—”
He paused for effect. “The . . . Louisa . . . May . . . Cavendish . . . Memorial . . . Library!”
The Principal clapped gleefully, apparently hoping the Grischer would join in. “I spoke to Ms. Glossup, and it’s possible—oh, my goodness!—that Gregory Cavendish himself will come for the ceremony. We’ll go all out! Cookies, juice, balloons—the sky’s the limit! A party, Ms. Grisch.”
“YAAAAAY!” yelled Alfie.
“What?” said the Grischer. “WHAT? Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” said the Principal.
“That squeaky sound?”
“What squeaky sound? Ms. Grisch, are you quite—”
“YAAAAAAAY!”
“There it is again! Just like last week. The talking sticky! I showed it to you, Mr. Steadman, last Friday. Didn’t you hear that sound just now?”
“Er . . . no,” said the Principal.
What happened next wasn’t exactly clear to the bugs, but Mr. Steadman made the mistake of mentioning tea again.
“Tea?” said Grischer. “Again with the tea? Will you please stop offering me tea, Mr. Steadman! Just . . . just . . . just stop it!”
After the Principal left—he retreated very quickly—the Grischer phoned her brother.
“That’s it,” she told him. “I’ve had it! I am leaving Ferny Creek, and I am never coming back.”
Beneath the desk, Eddie was holding his brother in a four-footed headlock. There would be no more YAAAAYs from Alfie.
“No, Robert, I’m not saying there’s a ghost here. I . . . well, to be honest . . . I don’t know what it is. All I know is, there’s something very peculiar in this Library that’s been against us from the start.”
There was a silence.
Then the Grischer stamped her foot. “No, it’s not just a few kids and stickies! Why don’t you come here and see for yourself? It’s teachers. Parents. Reporters. It’s the relatives of dead volunteers! Is that enough for you? Or shall I add Facebook and Twitter?”
Under the desk, Eddie decided to let Alfie go. He made a zipper motion across his mouth, signaling silence.
“Well, my advice is—drop the whole thing! Find something else to close. Ferny Creek Elementary School is attached to its library like gum to a shoe. And by the way, Robert, I heard your name mentioned here today—and not in a good way. Watch your step.”
This time when the Grischer left, the door slammed shut behind her, as if it was hastening her on her way. It slammed loud enough to make even a bug jump.
KA-BANG!