No matter who tells you it’s cool, there is no reason to be in a library early on a Saturday morning. No matter how beautiful your library is, no matter if it has old, tall columns, no matter if it was once part of a Revolutionary War hospital.

It’s not that I don’t like appearing smart or interested in books—I am both smart and interested in books. It’s the fact that it’s ten o’clock in the morning. Most kids up this early on a Saturday are practicing a sport or helping a parent at the grocery store, or even doing one of Sage Jones’s poetry-pottery workshops where you can make a teacup and saucer with your own haiku glazed into them.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Marci Thompson on a weekend before. Denis looks just as sleepy as I do as he walks up the hill to the library. He shoots a glance at me, and all I can think to do is shrug.

There are so many babies here, with tired moms and dads, standing in front of a sign that reads INFANT STORY TIME! 10:15 A.M. SATURDAY! We let them go first once the doors are opened. Then the three of us step inside.

Marci says, “Come on,” and dives into the children’s section. She braves three babies—one who’s crying over a picture of a pumpkin in a book—and finds the Y shelf for fiction. There are five Jane Yolen books on the shelf, but none are The Devil’s Arithmetic.

“I’ll ask if they can get it from another library,” she says, and goes to stand in line at the front desk. Denis thumbs through a book about woodworking, and I watch a baby drool down its mom’s back. The string measures at least two feet—impressive.

By the time Marci, Denis, and I are walking out of the library, it’s 10:08 a.m. We don’t have the book, and we don’t have anything else to do.

“Hey,” Denis says, “why don’t we try the bookstore?”

“I don’t have any money,” Marci says.

“We can just look at the book, not buy it,” I point out.

Marci says, “Oh! That’s smart!”

“I have four dollars in quarters,” Denis informs us. “I was going to ask if you guys wanted to go feed the ducks in the park after the library.” The ducks don’t eat the quarters. There are machines with duck food at the park because it’s not good to feed ducks bread.

“Great idea, Denis!” Marci says.

I feel a weird kind of jealousy that makes no sense. Grandad warned me about this. He wasn’t trying to be weird, but he told me to be careful being friends with girls at my age because I might “feel things.” Fact: I feel like a jerk for not bringing quarters, too.

Dress Codes Are Outdated!

My daughter has been sent home three times for “dress code violations” except that she wasn’t violating dress code. This fall is very warm and she wore shorts to school. Shorts are an acceptable thing to wear in a school—especially when the air-conditioning is old or out of order. Boys are allowed to wear shorts. This policy is wrong and something should be done about it.
—Gretchen Good, Main Street

Re: Dress Codes Are Outdated!

Unless you work in a school as I do, you cannot see the value in a strict dress code. Boys become distracted by the littlest things as it is. The last thing we need is for them to be more distracted. Use your common sense! No one was wearing shorts in the 1800s and they didn’t complain!
—Laura Samuel Sett