arranged—not by topic or author. Maybe it made sense to Dad.
“What’s up?” a voice asked.
I jumped about a mile. Then I realized it was just Franklin. “Jerk. You don’t just sneak up on somebody.”
“Sorry. How’d you get in here?”
“I should ask you the same question.”
“Annie told me you were out here. So—you opened another room.”
I told him how the key had appeared.
“There are so many books in here!”
“Like a thousand,” I agreed.
“More like three thousand.”
“Three thousand?”
“Well, twenty bookcases, each with about six shelves.” He pointed. “Twenty-four books on this shelf, which rounds to about twenty-five books on each. So there are about three thousand books in this room.”
We stared around at the bookshelves.
“Feel like reading?” I asked.
“I feel like having hot cocoa. And doing the space puzzle.”
“Yeah.” I followed him, leaving my homework. The puzzle seemed more important.
Caroline was sitting with her usual group at lunch when I spotted her the next day, but the others left eventually. She started reading in the middle of the noisy lunchroom. She really could fall into her own world.
When Franklin finished eating and left to check on the mold he was growing for extra credit in science, I went to sit with Caroline.
She looked up from her book without marking the place. I remembered what Aunt Bessie had said about it being annoying to ask someone what she’s reading, so I skipped that question.
“Would you be interested in a room full of books?” Maybe that was an odd thing to ask.
“I guess so,” Caroline said. “Where is it?”
“In my barn.”
“You have a room full of books in your barn?”
“Well, I do now. I mean, it’s been there, I just didn’t know about it.”
“You didn’t?”
I filled her in on the details. I have to admit, they sounded pretty crazy. But she was curious about the rooms and keys.
She was busy that afternoon, but the next day she got a pass to come home with me on the bus.
Which really seemed to annoy Franklin. When we got off the bus, he headed toward his own house.
“This is a
lot
of books.” Caroline walked into the room and turned slowly. “Lucky! You have your own library!”
“That’s one way to look at it. It was my dad’s. All the books are for grown-ups.”
Caroline walked over to a shelf and picked up a book. She opened it and smelled the pages. When I gave her a funny look, she said, “Books smell really good.”
“You can borrow some.”
Caroline ran her fingers along the spines. She seemed to judge books as much by their covers as by the way they smelled and the way the paper felt under her fingertips.
“They’re not all grown-up books,” she said.
“I think they are.”
“Nope.” She pulled one off a shelf. “
Winnie-the-Pooh
. They’re just disguised. Hardcovers without jackets.”
She handed me
Winnie-the-Pooh
. I opened it, flipped through.
“Someone read this to me,” I said. “I think a teacher.”
I sniffed the book like Caroline had. I closed my eyes.
It wasn’t a teacher. It was a man’s voice reading. And I wasn’t sitting in a desk or a circle of other kids … I was in bed, with pillows and Bunny-Rabbit and a sleepy feeling. The memory was so shadowy I could hardly catch it.
“Dad read this to me.”
“Well, here, this whole section has kids’ books.”
I pulled several books from their places. Then I heard the smallest noise of metal moving.
When I looked at the shelf, there was a key!
“Caroline, look!” I said. “Another key! Just here on the shelf!”
She took it from me. “It’s dusty. I bet it’s been here the whole time.”
The dust on the shelf showed the outline of a key. The key probably
had
been locked in this room the whole time, in plain sight on the shelf.
“Come on!” I said.
I ran into the hallway with Caroline behind me. I jammed the key into doorknobs until it fit. When I pushed the door
“What’s up?” a voice asked.
I jumped about a mile. Then I realized it was just Franklin. “Jerk. You don’t just sneak up on somebody.”
“Sorry. How’d you get in here?”
“I should ask you the same question.”
“Annie told me you were out here. So—you opened another room.”
I told him how the key had appeared.
“There are so many books in here!”
“Like a thousand,” I agreed.
“More like three thousand.”
“Three thousand?”
“Well, twenty bookcases, each with about six shelves.” He pointed. “Twenty-four books on this shelf, which rounds to about twenty-five books on each. So there are about three thousand books in this room.”
We stared around at the bookshelves.
“Feel like reading?” I asked.
“I feel like having hot cocoa. And doing the space puzzle.”
“Yeah.” I followed him, leaving my homework. The puzzle seemed more important.
Caroline was sitting with her usual group at lunch when I spotted her the next day, but the others left eventually. She started reading in the middle of the noisy lunchroom. She really could fall into her own world.
When Franklin finished eating and left to check on the mold he was growing for extra credit in science, I went to sit with Caroline.
She looked up from her book without marking the place. I remembered what Aunt Bessie had said about it being annoying to ask someone what she’s reading, so I skipped that question.
“Would you be interested in a room full of books?” Maybe that was an odd thing to ask.
“I guess so,” Caroline said. “Where is it?”
“In my barn.”
“You have a room full of books in your barn?”
“Well, I do now. I mean, it’s been there, I just didn’t know about it.”
“You didn’t?”
I filled her in on the details. I have to admit, they sounded pretty crazy. But she was curious about the rooms and keys.
She was busy that afternoon, but the next day she got a pass to come home with me on the bus.
Which really seemed to annoy Franklin. When we got off the bus, he headed toward his own house.
“This is a
lot
of books.” Caroline walked into the room and turned slowly. “Lucky! You have your own library!”
“That’s one way to look at it. It was my dad’s. All the books are for grown-ups.”
Caroline walked over to a shelf and picked up a book. She opened it and smelled the pages. When I gave her a funny look, she said, “Books smell really good.”
“You can borrow some.”
Caroline ran her fingers along the spines. She seemed to judge books as much by their covers as by the way they smelled and the way the paper felt under her fingertips.
“They’re not all grown-up books,” she said.
“I think they are.”
“Nope.” She pulled one off a shelf. “
Winnie-the-Pooh
. They’re just disguised. Hardcovers without jackets.”
She handed me
Winnie-the-Pooh
. I opened it, flipped through.
“Someone read this to me,” I said. “I think a teacher.”
I sniffed the book like Caroline had. I closed my eyes.
It wasn’t a teacher. It was a man’s voice reading. And I wasn’t sitting in a desk or a circle of other kids … I was in bed, with pillows and Bunny-Rabbit and a sleepy feeling. The memory was so shadowy I could hardly catch it.
“Dad read this to me.”
“Well, here, this whole section has kids’ books.”
I pulled several books from their places. Then I heard the smallest noise of metal moving.
When I looked at the shelf, there was a key!
“Caroline, look!” I said. “Another key! Just here on the shelf!”
She took it from me. “It’s dusty. I bet it’s been here the whole time.”
The dust on the shelf showed the outline of a key. The key probably
had
been locked in this room the whole time, in plain sight on the shelf.
“Come on!” I said.
I ran into the hallway with Caroline behind me. I jammed the key into doorknobs until it fit. When I pushed the door
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