CHAPTER 1 THIS IS WHY HE HAS BEST FRIEND STATUS #2
When Anna comes up to me to say hi, her gaze flicks up to my eyebrows. Then away. Then back again.
Oh no. My eyebrows have become all she can focus on. Why didn’t I think to at least look at them in my car visor mirror on my way here?
“Miss Wilder?” she says carefully.
“Yes?”
“Did you… do something different today?”
“To my eyebrows?”
Her eyes widen with the panic of a child who has accidentally confirmed something she didn’t mean to confirm. “I didn’t say that.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m conducting valuable field research.”
The warning bell rings, and students all gather their backpacks as conversations end, books close, and the room gradually empties.
“Bye, Miss Wilder.”
“Have a good day, Anna.” Anna’s smile brightens, and she flits out into the hallway.
I really do love this job. Even if the students will inevitably call me out on my eyebrows or anything else I mess up.
Silence settles over the media center for about six seconds, then Mateo Morales appears just before the bell rings. He’s my student aide this period. He’s thirteen, yet he somehow possesses the organizational instincts of a retired accountant.
“Good morning, Miss Wilder,” Mateo says.
“Morning, Mateo!”
His eyes move immediately to my mystery display.
It’s got crime scene tape, the outline of a body, construction paper footprints along the floor and up the wall partition behind it, a silhouette of the classic detective, the words Can you solve the case?
with each letter looking like it was cut out of a magazine, and question marks in different colors and fonts scattered all around, amid a fantastic group of mystery books.
This is my favorite genre, and I think my display is 10/10.
It might get some kids trying it out who haven’t before.
But I know Mateo’s look. “What’s wrong with it?”
“The first three books are alphabetized by author.”
“Okay.”
“The rest are alphabetized by title.”
“I just placed them there in the order I thought of them when I was choosing books to include. Do I get bonus points for how close to alphabetized they are?”
He just looks at me for a moment, then says, “No. It’s practically a crime how badly they’re conflicting.”
I press a hand to my chest. “Mateo. A genre-appropriate critique. I’m so proud.”
He grins, then immediately switches to a serious expression. “It needs to be fixed.”
I try to hide a smile and say, “Go for it. Fix to your heart’s content.”
I know he’ll start on re-shelving books next, and likely even finding every book that has been mis-shelved along the way.
Marjorie is already starting to cover some new books we just got in, so I head over to my desk.
A teacher is bringing her class in next period to learn about searching databases, finding sources, and citing them properly, and I really need to prep for that.
But first, I pick up my phone and text Miles.
Reese: A student just informed me that my mystery display is committing organizational crimes.
Miles: Was the student Mateo?
Clearly, I talk about my students, especially my aides, way too much.
Reese: How did you know?
Miles: Profiled the subject.
Reese: Should I be concerned that your first instinct was profiling?
Miles: Only if you’re secretly running an international criminal network from the library.
Reese: If I was, you’d think I’d have a bigger budget for new books.
The morning passes so quickly. Besides the second period English class coming in, a steady stream of students has been in and out. And despite both Marjorie and me working on my to-do list during every free minute, it has even more things on it than it did this morning.
As I’m eating lunch, my phone pings with a text.
Miles: Hi. Accountability Partner Miles here, checking in on your list.
Reese: Hypothetically speaking, if someone’s to-do list gets longer, despite them actively working on it, should that person be concerned?
Miles: Should you be concerned your to-do list is getting away from you? Definitely yes.
Miles: Should you be concerned your superhero status might get called into question? The jury’s still out on that one.
Miles: Should you be concerned the library will descend into chaos and stop functioning without your immediate intervention? Absolutely not.
Reese: Because I wake up every morning with superpowers?
Miles: Exactly. And what kind of accountability partner would I be if I let you confuse “didn’t finish everything” with “failed”?
Reese: So, I’m not failing?
Miles: Not according to the official Accountability Partner bylaws.
Reese: There are bylaws?
Miles: I just drafted them. Very official. Lots of sub-sections.
Reese: Any of them say I deserve chocolate?
Miles: Section 4B. Mandatory.
By 3:30, Marjorie has already been gone for a couple of hours, the students have all gone home for the day, and I’ve added another four things to my list just since lunch.
I’ve come to the conclusion that having a completed to-do list by the end of the day isn’t a sign of having superpowers—it’s a sign of abundance.
I mean, I’ll never be bored. I’ll always be needed.
And I’ll never run out of adventures. Plus, in a way, it’s looking out for me by giving me a heads-up about what tomorrow will bring.
I finally find my lunch bag (I swear someone moved it), my keys (was it really me who put them in my desk drawer?), and my phone (I really should’ve checked my pocket first).
Before I shut off all the lights, I look around the library.
At the student-created artwork hanging near the circulation desk.
At the bookshelves. At the reading corner.
At my now properly alphabetized murder mystery display. I love this place.
A random thought pops into my head, and I pull out my phone to text Miles.
Reese: I’ve got an important question for you.
Miles: This sounds dangerous.
Reese: If you could know the answer to one mystery right now, what would it be?
Miles: I’m going to need to think about that one.
Reese: That means you have an answer and don’t want to tell me.
Miles: It means some mysteries are complicated.
I smile as I turn off the lights and lock the media center doors behind me. Complicated mysteries are my favorite kind.