Chapter 12
On Sunday, before Victoria went to work, we talked to Mom and Dad about Knight. They seemed thrilled that I had a new friend, considering the mess I’d made of my old friend group, and set up a video call with Knight’s parents that afternoon.
At the appointed time, I hid in my room.
Me:
It’s a shame our parents aren’t text-door neighbors too
Knight Errant:
I just heard my mom laughing
I guess they’re getting along
Me:
Mine is laughing, too
This could be really good or really bad
OMG my mom just snort-laughed!!
Knight Errant:
My dad just walked by and gave me a thumbs up
So I guess we’re good, even though I’m worried about how well our moms seem to be getting along
Me:
I feel like I should apologize because my parents are currently hyper-focused on the most ridiculous thing
Knight Errant:
Is it a basement crack
Me:
Knight Errant:
My dad just ran in to listen bc I guess your parents are explaining everything and he loves home repair
I’ve heard enough
Is this what your life is like?
Me:
ALL HOME REPAIRS ALL THE TIME
Several minutes later, Mom knocked on my door. (Her knocking sounded different from Dad’s. It had a pattern. Dad’s knock sometimes seemed like he forgot what he was doing.)
“Come in!”
Mom opened the door and leaned on the frame. She had a weird smile I couldn’t quite translate. Maybe it was the thrill of talking about wall braces with another adult? Relishing the low-level terror of home collapse that grown-ups seemed to live for?
“Well,” Mom said slowly, “I talked to … Knight’s parents. He’s a real boy in eighth grade. And you can keep talking to … Knight.”
“Why do you keep pausing like that? It makes you sound really suspicious.”
She put on her very convincing neutral face (something I must have inherited from her) and shrugged. “Anyway, just let me know if something changes between you two.”
“Changes?” I sniffed. “That’s very vague, but yes, sure, I promise.”
“Well. Good.” She basically ran out of the room, not quite disguising the way her neutral face shifted back into that weird smile.
“Your books came in!” Mrs. Kauffman said by way of greeting Monday afternoon. She scanned my library card and handed me the stack.
Just as I was putting my new photography and weaving books inside my backpack (now approximately double my body weight), Grayson walked in, his cheeks flushed with cold, his hat pulled low over his forehead.
As promised, he’d been keeping his distance.
Even at lunch (yes, I ended up sitting at his table, because where else was I going to go?), we didn’t so much as look at each other.
He stayed on his phone and I stayed on mine.
But it was clear he’d decided not to deprive himself of the miracle of free books. Like a sensible person.
“Oh good! We can get started.” Mrs. Kauffman winked at me. Actually winked at me.
“Whaaaat are we getting started?” I asked warily.
“The Jolly-Days booth!” Mrs. Kauffman looked at Grayson. “I’m assuming you changed your mind about helping? Since you’re such a devoted patron, we could really use your help.”
Grayson’s gaze slid toward me. He lifted an eyebrow.
Was he … asking permission?
Clearly, he wanted to help. And Mrs. Kauffman wanted him to help. And truthfully, I wanted him to help for the very honorable purpose of looking at him more.
I gave a tiny shrug. “It’s fine with me.”
Tension fell from his face. “Yeah,” he told Mrs. Kauffman. “I guess I changed my mind.”
“Good. Now, we’ve got three weeks to get the booth ready, and by ‘we’ I mean you two. I have other stuff to do. Secret librarian stuff. But there are a bunch of supplies in the back room.”
That was … it? She was just sending us to the back room to get started on our own? “But what about reshelving books?”
“Your job now is to make an award-winning booth. There’s a paper with specific instructions in the back.”
“I’ll do my best to make the library proud.”
“We will,” Grayson said, sounding a little strangled. “I’m right here.”
“Oh yeah. We.” I swallowed hard. I was already messing things up.
When Mrs. Kauffman handed me the key, I started for the back room. After a second, Grayson followed.
“I didn’t even realize there was another room,” he said as we reached the door partially obscured by a rolling bookcase.
“Yep. It’s original to the building.” I moved the shelving out of the way and shoved the big key into the lock. It was the kind of old-fashioned lock and key that gave otherworldly portal vibes. “This”—I hauled open the creaking door and stepped through—“is where the cells are.”
Grayson paused in the doorway. “The what?”
“Oh yeah. This whole building used to be the town jail.” I flipped the light switch, revealing a big folding table in the center, stacks of boxes along the walls, and—on the far side—three openings to smaller spaces.
The cells. There weren’t any bars; those had been removed a long time ago, probably because they freaked people out.
The sound was different in here: kind of muffled and still.
My voice seemed too loud. “It’s the most secure part of the building.
Mrs. Kauffman told me if there’s ever an emergency, like a tornado, and we don’t have time to go home, we’ll come back here.
Nothing’s getting through these walls. In fact, legend says that on stormy winter nights, you can still—”
“I’m not sure I want to know.” Grayson’s eyes were wide as he scanned the room, probably looking for signs of a haunting.
I stared at him. “Grayson Jennings. Are you afraid of ghosts?”
His gaze cut to me. “There’s a closet door in my house that rattles. All night, basically. Never during the day. My brothers swear we all saw something in there years ago. I don’t remember it, but it just feels like there’s … something. So yeah. I am.”
I raised my eyebrows, a little spooked. “Okay. Uh, well, I don’t think the library is actually haunted. I was just kidding. Nothing weird has ever happened here. That I know about.”
He gave a long, put-upon sigh and stepped fully into the room. The door fell shut behind him … and clicked. He paused mid-stride. “Are we locked in?”
“No, but even if we were, I have the key, remember?” I held it up. “Don’t worry. I won’t let the ghosts get you.”
He shot me a sideways look. “Someone wants to make this booth by herself.”
“No, no.” I motioned for him to come to the table, which held boxes full of decorating supplies, just as Mrs. Kauffman promised. The rules paper was there as well.
“I swear, this place is never going to feel the same now that I know about the jail.” He started pulling things out of the box: markers, rolls of paper, and ribbons. “Do we have a theme for the booth? Nothing scary.”
Who knew Grayson Jennings was such a gentle soul?
“Of course we’re not looking for anything scary. It’s Winter Jolly-Days.” I bit my lip to hide my smile. “I was thinking ‘cozy up with a good book.’ Maybe we could try to make something with a fireplace, a mug of hot chocolate, and obviously a stack of books.”
He frowned into the box. “That’s classic, of course. But it might be a little …”
“Predictable?”
Grayson shrugged. “It’s familiar, and I think that’s usually a good thing. People like familiar. But we also want it to stand out, so we need something surprising, too. Something that makes people comfortable … but delighted.”
That was a good observation. “Okay, so what do you think we should do?”
He pressed his mouth into a line and a little V formed between his eyebrows.
“What if we use your cozy idea, but instead of, say, family portraits on the fireplace mantel, it’s characters from books?
And we could add characters in armchairs, too, but they’re reading books you wouldn’t expect—like a wizard poring over a book about particle physics. ”
I gasped. “That actually makes a lot of sense when you think about it! Of course a wizard would want to be knowledgeable about the way the world works! You have to understand it to be able to mess around with it—unless you want to break gravity or something.”
“Yeah, you get it!” His grin was warm and genuine, making my heart squeeze. “So you like the idea?”
I nodded. “It’s really cute. And the more fun details we have, the more closely people are going to look at it.
They’ll remember it! And if we’re going to use real books, we should try to use popular ones and some that people might not know about, so they’ll want to check out new things at the library. ”
“I really like that.” He smiled again. “Do you want me to draw a concept and you pick out what books should be in it? Or—Do you draw?”
“No, I don’t draw. Not well, anyway.” Knight would be good at this, but I couldn’t ask him to help. Obviously. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll aim for … twenty books to start with?”
“Perfect.” Grayson was already bending over a sheet of paper, sketching quickly.
I headed back into the main room and stared at the new-release shelves.
“Weeeell?” Mrs. Kauffman asked from her desk. “How’s it going?
“We have an idea. I’ll tell you when we’re ready to share.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so it’s like that, is it?”
“It is. Because you’re trying to be sneaky and make us be friends.”
She sniffed. “I just think we’re more likely to win with two people on the job. Plus, he likes art and I figured this would be good for him. Things have been rough lately.”
“What do you mean?” I lowered the book I’d picked up. “Is something wrong?”
Mrs. Kauffman tsked and waved away my question. “It’s not our business. But I’m glad you’re working together.”
Suddenly, I remembered the wild guesses Kat, Mary Heather, and Jess had made about Grayson’s fall from popularity: that his parents were getting divorced, that there was Mafia trouble, that he was being sent to live in someone’s stables.
The last two options sounded farfetched, but the first … maybe.
I gathered a few more books, put them on Parakeet, and wheeled everything to the back room, because I couldn’t actually carry a stack of books as tall as me.
When I entered, Grayson looked up from his work and flashed a nervous smile—like he wasn’t sure where we stood. That was fair. I’d been a little hot-and-cold to him. And he didn’t deserve it.
I was the one who’d been mean. Not him.
And if Mrs. Kauffman was right and he had something going on at home—well, he probably needed this distraction from his real life. I could relate. It made me want to be kinder to him. To everyone.
I smiled as I parked the cart by the table and looked down at his work. He’d already sketched our idea, including stick figures where different characters might go, as well as quick notes about what kind of materials we might want to use to create different effects.
“Wow.” I stepped around to get a better look at it. “This is great brainstorming.”
He was quiet a moment. Hesitant. “You think so?”
“Yeah.” I glanced at his face. “Yeah, it’s really good. You’re talented. And … I’m glad you’re doing this with me.”