Sabrina
The Maplewood Free Library truly was one of my favorite places on earth.
When I was small, my dad would bring me to story hour, and I’d negotiate with the librarians, usually convincing them to let me check out more than the six allowed picture books.
Then later, I’d come here after school and read or do homework until my mom got off work.
It was safe. It was clean. It was comfortable. Nothing bad could happen in a library.
And it had saved my mom. When she struggled with alcoholism, this place had given her joy and hope. Landing a job she loved after getting her degree later in life was one of her proudest moments.
And now Laurie Monroe ran the show here.
“What do you think?” She opened the door to a small conference room. Its floor was covered in piles of unshelved books, along with cardboard boxes and broken chairs.
“It’s yours. There’s a code on the lock, so you can store your things here.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I gave her a squeeze. “I’ll whip it into shape.” Although the glorified closet was far from the office towers and luxury hotels where I usually set up my war rooms, I was grateful for the space.
For now I’d order a few monitors and whiteboards, along with other supplies, and make it work.
The war room was a necessary part of my process. A physical, confidential space housing all the information I’d gathered. Where the thinking and processing could take place.
When dealing with sensitive information, there was no true digital protection. But a locked door and a whiteboard that could be erased? Simple but more effective.
“Proud of you, sweetie.” She patted my cheek. “You’re making lemonade.”
I winced. “Yes, out of rotten, moldy lemons.”
She tilted her head, assessing me. Laurie would not be denied. “Still proud.”
It was a relief to have something to do with myself. I hadn’t had this much free time since childhood, and it was grating on me. My fingers itched to type out a scathing email, or at the very least, plot a very small coup.
“You’re one of the good guys now,” she said as she gathered several books from the table and stacked them.
I squeezed my eyes shut and let go of the response that came to me.
My mother failed to understand that goodness was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
I had to be effective and successful, and that required ruthlessness.
Because power protected those who knew how to use it.
I had forgotten that lesson for one tiny moment, and what had happened? Everything had fallen apart.
One moment of weakness. My conscience had taken over for half a second, pushing me to do the right thing.
And now I was paying for it.
In my small-town Vermont municipal library purgatory.
I tidied a bit, then wandered over to the circulation desk to refill my coffee mug and steal a pack of Post-it notes.
For a minute, I hung out there with my mother, quietly scrolling through Instagram while she busied herself with paperwork.
“Mom,” I asked, looking up. “Did you make this Instagram post?”
She laughed and waved at me dismissively. “You know I don’t do that stuff.”
I tapped on the caption so I could read the whole thing. It was great. A cute book pun, and it had more than ten thousand likes. “Who runs the account?”
“Harper,” she said, focused on her work again. “She asked if she could a few months back. I was happy to let her take over. One less thing on my plate.”
“Mom this post has ten thousand likes.”
Looking up, she frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Ten thousand people saw it and liked it.”
Her hands froze, the papers stilling. “But only twelve hundred people live in Maplewood.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Will you point out Harper?” I scanned the space. I’d known most of the library employees since childhood, but after twenty years, there had obviously been some turnover.
“Oh, she doesn’t work here. She comes in after school most days. Sits in the reference room.”
I wheezed. “She’s a kid?”
“Yes. Smart girl. Stays out of trouble. Her mom works third shift at the Sugar Moon plant.”
Nodding, I went back to scrolling through the library’s social media feed. Previously, they posted once or twice a week, with boring content about new acquisitions or events.
But since December, there had been multiple posts and reels each day. With hashtags, trending audio, and fun camera angles. It was chaotic, but this Harper person had good instincts.
The filters, distortion, and silliness she used probably made it easier for the average person to connect to.
This was the exact energy I was looking for.
So a few hours later, after school had let out, I tracked down the elusive Harper.
She had a blunt bob with thick bangs and she wore glasses. Her plaid shirt was draped over the back of her chair, and her combat boot–clad feet were propped up on the chair next to her.
As I pulled the chair out across from her, she gave me a thoroughly unimpressed glare that was standard for an inconvenienced teen.
I liked her already.
“I’m Sabrina Monroe,” I said.
“You’re Laurie’s daughter.” She focused on her book again.
“Yes. My mom speaks highly of you.”
“She’s the best,” she replied, even as she kept her expression cool.
Right answer, kid. Regardless of the wall she’d erected around herself.
I placed my phone on the table, open to the library’s Instagram page. “You do this?”
Finally, she looked up at me, her eyes widening, and swallowed. “Laurie said it was okay. That I could do whatever I wanted.”
“Relax.” I sat and rested my forearms on the table between us. “It’s good. All over the place, with no clear content plan, but you’ve got good instincts.”
“My post about local authors got ten thousand likes.”
“I saw.”
She smirked, a hint of pride escaping her.
“You a senior?”
She shook her head. “Junior. Can’t wait to get out of this shithole town.”
A huff of a laugh left me. I understood that sentiment all too well.
“I’m working on a project,” I said slowly. “And I could use your talent.”
Her lips curved down. “From what I’ve heard, you can manage on your own.”
Touché. I couldn’t argue with that, but I tamped down on my own pride and considered another approach. I didn’t have much experience negotiating with teenagers, but I was aware that they could be harder to crack than a senator’s mistress with a prepaid lawyer and a burner phone.
“Not always,” I said, leaning closer. “And I’m woman enough to know when I can’t do it all myself. The foundation of any victory is a strong team. And this, as you called it, ‘shithole town,’ is lacking in talent.”
Her eyes widened further, her mind working.
I gave it a second. Then I threw in a simple comment I was sure she’d eat up. “Except for you.”
Her eyes lit up. Got her. Hook, line, and sinker.
“You’ve got potential,” I told her. “You like social media.”
“Yeah, but your mom won’t let me make a TikTok account for the library,” she groused. “And I have so many ideas.”
Her earnestness was adorable. This kid was extra in all the right ways. She was probably smarter than most of her teachers and knew it.
“I know you could,” I said, holding her gaze. “But why stick to something so small? Instead of the library, how about…”
I paused, dragging out the anticipation, waiting until she was leaning in.
“How about I hire you to run the Maplewood socials?”
She snapped upright. “For the whole town? Is that allowed?”
“It is if I say it is.”
Lips pursed, she examined me, suspicious. “You have that kind of authority?”
I nodded, keeping my expression light. “Have any idea what we could do?”
She tapped away at her phone, then showed me one bookmark after another in her web browser, eagerly listing ideas and discussing engagement.
“So what’s the job? When do I start?”
“I’m putting together a committee,” I told her. “A task force, really. We’ll meet here, at the library. But I still need to get things up and running. While I do that, I want you to do some research for me.”
She immediately produced a notebook and a sparkly pen.
“Start lurking. Search the internet for what other small towns do that seem to have success. Even big towns. How do they promote festivals and events? How are they attracting tourists? How can we capture Vermont charm on socials?”
She scribbled furiously.
“Start saving content ideas. I’ll get permission.”
She beamed at me, looking so young and so innocent.
I surveyed her, awash in nostalgia. Her backpack was tattered and one strap was held together with duct tape, but her supplies were neat—stacks of binder and color-coded folders and a small pouch with a rainbow of highlighters.
“Single mom?” I guessed.
She nodded.
“Same.” I gestured to where my mom was sitting at the circulation desk. “Laurie raised me alone after my dad died. It was hard. But this place.” Sighing, I scanned the room. “It saved me. I came here every day after school. And I used the ancient computers to apply to colleges.”
Her shoulders sank. “I’ll probably have to do that too. I don’t have my own computer. My mom can’t afford it. But I’m gonna go to college. Far away from Vermont. I’m in all AP classes this year.”
A smile twitched at my lips. Of course she was.
Sitting across from her was like jumping back in time and spying on my teenage self. An adolescent full of angst and confusion and a healthy dose of just wanting to be understood.
I stood and gave her a smile, turning like I was going to walk away. But I stopped and spun back quickly, tapping my chin. “I guess I forgot to mention that the position comes with a laptop. It’s a necessity for what we need, after all.”
“Really?” She broke into a smile so bright it almost blinded me. “I can do so much more that way. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t.”
I’d made it three steps when I thought of one more thing.
“And a new iPhone.” I nodded at the old model with the cracked screen on the table. “You can’t edit TikTok content on that.”
“I don’t want charity,” she said firmly, crossing her arms, like she’d figured me out.
With two big steps, I returned to the table, then splayed my hands over the surface and gave her my most intimidating glare. One that once made the Finnish ambassador pee his pants before a UN hearing.
She didn’t flinch. Yeah, I knew I liked this kid.
“I don’t believe in charity,” I said coolly. “This is a job. Don’t fuck it up.”
She nodded once, contrite.
Satisfied, I walked back to my conference room. My team was taking shape.