“Is it about Lu’s missing cousin?” I asked, hopefully.
“No.”
“Theo’s fortune?”
“No.”
I deflated.
“Did you even look?”
Everett frowned. “Take a look around, boy-o. Do you have any idea how many volumes I have to wade through?”
“No.”
“Neither do I. But there are plenty! I’ve been searching for your friends’ stories, I promise you. But I’m a spirit, not magical. It’ll take some time.”
“And time means nothing here, right?”
“Right you are, but I did come across something that appears to have some time sensitivity. That does happen every so often.”
He put his hand on the red book and patted it a few times.
“A new story?” I asked.
“Not just new. It’s now. This isn’t about something that happened in the past. The events chronicled in this book are happening right now. Today, in your time. That’s why it can’t wait.”
It was crazy how spirits were everywhere, observing strange events and documenting them to create these books. It made me incredibly self-conscious about going to the bathroom.
“Give me the highlights,” I said.
Everett picked up the book and flipped through the pages.
“It concerns a school in Massachusetts. Coppell Middle School. It’s an understatement to say the folks there have been going through a spell of bad luck, but that’s about the size of it. Here, read a wee bit.”
He handed the open book to me and pointed to a paragraph that read:
Since the school year began, a series of accidents have occurred that go beyond what could be considered normal. It started out innocently enough. A cart full of glassware went tumbling, though no one was anywhere near it; windows cracked and shattered for no apparent reason; a grease fire broke out in the cafeteria kitchen. At first none of the incidents were serious. Nobody was hurt. But the accidents grew worse. An electrical transformer blew up, knocking out the school’s power; a climbing rope in the gym snapped while a boy was halfway up; and a groundskeeper lost control of a riding lawn mower that leveled an entire rose garden.
“Glad I don’t go to that school,” I said.
“Aye, and it gets even worse. A young lady driving by the school suddenly swerved and drove her vehicle onto the property, through a glass door, and straight into the dining hall during lunchtime. She was completely rattled, as you might imagine. Said it was like the car had a mind of its own.”
“Dining hall?”
“Cafeteria. Whatever it is you call it. Spare me your criticism.”
Everett grabbed the book back and waddled down the aisle, headed for the long circulation desk.
I followed right behind him.
“That’s some seriously bad luck.”
“Aye. And now it’s risen to a whole different level. They were having a sports gathering in their gymnasium. A pep rally, I believe it’s called. With no warning or apparent reason, a whole section of bleachers collapsed.”
“Oh man. Did anybody get hurt?”
“No one too badly, thank goodness. There’s a pattern here. The severity of the events is escalating. Quickly. What’s happening at that school goes beyond the logic that governs normal events. In my mind, that elevates it into something else entirely.”
“A disruption,” I said.
“Aye. Something is happening there, Marcus. Something wrong. I fear it’s only a matter of time before someone is seriously hurt, or worse.”
“What do you think’s causing it?” I asked.
Everett dropped the book onto the circulation desk and said, “That’s where you come in.”
“Me? How? I can’t just go to Massachusetts.”
“Ah, but you can.”
He opened the book to show me a cream-colored card with dark lines that was glued inside the cover. It was the kind of card they used to use in library books to show the due date. Before computers, that is.
“All you have to do is check out the book.”
“Then what?”
“Then the book is yours for a while,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “When you leave here, you’ll be a part of the story.”
“So I walk back out the door and I’m suddenly in Massachusetts and at that school?”
“Not exactly. If you walk out the door you came in through, you’d be back home. The door that gets you into the story is on the far side of the Library.”
It all sounded so mystically ridiculous, except I knew it wasn’t.
“Why didn’t I have to do that with the Boggin story?” I asked.
“Because you were already part of that story. This is different. You have no connection to the events happening in Massachusetts.”
My head was spinning.
“Okay, so I go to the school. Then what? I’m no detective.”
“That’s what your father said at first too, but he always found a way. Finished many of these stories, he did. Seeing how you handled the Boggin, I suspect you’ll do every bit as well.”
My heart raced. As much as I knew this was what the Library was all about, I wasn’t so sure I was ready to play along.
“I don’t know—”
“Look, lad,” Everett said. “You’ve finished one story already. Because of you and your friends, Michael Swenor’s spirit was put to rest and you stopped the Boggin from spreading more misery. You know how important our work is. Your father knew it too.”
“And he died for it,” I said softly.
“Possibly,” Everett said. “We don’t know that for a fact. But if there’s any hope of finding out exactly why he and your mother died, you’ll need to embrace the Library and how it works. Not just for the people you’ll be helping but for yourself as well.”
Ever since I discovered the Library, I knew that at some point I’d have to step up to the plate, enter one of the unfinished stories, and try to fill my father’s shoes. Now that it was really happening, I was having second thoughts. And third thoughts.
“My parents think I’m in the bathroom,” I said lamely.
Everett chuckled. “And when you step back into your house, it’ll be as if you never left.”
“But what if I’m in Massachusetts for a long time? Won’t I get tired? And hungry? I can’t just spend a whole bunch of time somewhere else and then pick up where I left off at home.”
“So take a nap and eat something!” Everett said with a touch of impatience.
I had this weird fear that I was about to pull a Rip Van Winkle and come back as an old man.
“You can step out of the story anytime you’d like,” Everett said, as if reading my thoughts. “The Paradox key will get you right back here.”
Everett reached under the counter and brought out an old-fashioned fountain pen. He held it out to me.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“Sign the card,” Everett said, “and the book be yours.”
I looked at the pen, then at the book that contained an unfinished story about a middle school that was…what? Haunted? Cursed? Incredibly unlucky? Whatever the truth was, it was up to me to find it. Like my father before me, I was an agent of the Library.
I took the pen.
“Sign on the top line,” Everett instructed.
I leaned down, staring at the blank card. Nobody had checked this book out before. I was the first. This was crazy.
But I signed.
When I handed the pen back to Everett, he was smiling broadly.
“I remember the first time your father did that,” he said. “He looked about as nervous as you do right now.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“You’ll be fine. I know you will.”
“So what happens now? Do I take the book with me?”
Everett blew on my signature to dry it, then gently closed the cover.
“If you’d like, but I suggest you leav
e it here. We don’t want it getting lost like that other book.”
I knew exactly what he meant. The last book my father had been working on was a story about the Boggin. It never made its way back to the Library and my father and mother died. Somehow, some way, I had to find that book and finish their story. But not just then.
“So where’s the door out of here?” I asked.
“You mean the door into the story.”
“Whatever! Where do I go?”
Everett tucked the book under his arm and led me past more aisles of books and deeper into the Library. For a second I feared I’d get lost in the ancient labyrinth, but that was the least of my worries. We reached what turned out to be the final aisle, rounded the corner, and stood facing another wooden door that looked pretty much the same as the one I’d come through from home.
“So I go through and I’ll be at that school?”
“Aye.”
“And I can come back anytime?”
“Just use the Paradox key.”
I touched the key and pressed it against my chest. No way was I ever going to let go of that thing.
“No guarantees,” I said.
“There are never guarantees,” Everett said. “Especially when dealing with stories from the Library.”
I walked slowly toward the wooden door, feeling like I was walking the last few yards to the gallows. I stepped right up to it, reached for the doorknob, and stopped.
“What do I do first?” I asked.
“Up to you. But remember this: disruptions happen for a reason. When things go awry, it’s because someone caused it. Or something.”
“Like the Boggin.”
“Aye. It always comes down to people, Marcus. Living or dead. Somebody at that school knows why the disruption is happening. It could be intentional, or they may have no idea they’re involved. Ask questions. Be observant. The clues will be there.”
I nodded. Not because I knew what to do, but because I understood the full weight of my task, I grabbed the doorknob and twisted until the latch released and the door opened a crack.
“This won’t hurt, will it?”
“Not a bit,” Everett said. “It’s just like stepping through a normal door…and into another life.”
“Normal? Yeah, right.”
If I had taken another second to think about what those words truly meant, I would have slammed that door, run the other way, and gone home. But I was committed. I didn’t know if I had any hope of solving the mystery of the cursed school, but I had to give it a shot.
It’s what I was meant to do.
Before I could change my mind, I yanked the door open and, as the old spirit had said…
…stepped into another life.
Actually, I stepped through the door and into a bathroom.
At first I thought I was back home, that the magic of the Library hadn’t worked. But I stood facing a line of urinals that were definitely not in my bathroom at home.
Neither were the three guys who stood in front of the sinks, jamming paper into the drains to clog them up so the sinks would overflow. They were laughing like it was the most ingenious prank ever devised. The only problem was that they couldn’t figure out how to keep the water running—it kept shutting off after a couple of seconds.
These were not rocket scientists.
“Leave one of your books on the lever to keep it down,” one of the geniuses said to another.
“I’m not leaving my book!” was the reply.
“Why not? It’s not like you read it!”
The third guy laughed.
Yeah. Morons.
I’d stepped out of a closet. If I reopened the door, I’d probably find a mop and a bunch of rolls of toilet paper. To get back to the Library, I’d have to use the Paradox key.
I didn’t get the chance to test that theory, because as soon as the door closed behind me with a loud thunk, the three stooges whipped around in surprise to see me standing there. There was a frozen moment of confusion, as if they couldn’t understand how I had shown up so suddenly.
“Where did you come from?” one guy said accusingly, like I had tried to sneak up on them. He must have been the alpha dog, because the others kept their eyes on him as he took a step toward me. He was short and wore a saggy hoodie over a black T-shirt that simply said WICKED. I knew guys like this from my own school. They traveled in packs and tried to look dangerous.
“Where do you think I came from?” I replied.
The short guy stopped suddenly. The look of surprise on his face almost made me laugh. I don’t think he was used to having a question answered with a question.
“He saw what we were doing, Nate,” one of his pals said nervously, like I’d caught them pulling off the crime of the century.
“Nate,” I said quickly, “this is where you guys hang out? A bathroom?”
Nate, the leader, was totally off balance, which was exactly what I was going for.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked.
“Tell you what, chief,” I said. “I’ll do you a favor and forget what I saw here.”
I took a step toward the exit, but Nate’s hand shot out and grabbed my shirt. This was the critical moment. I never back down from a fight, especially not with a guy a lot smaller than me. And I don’t like bullies. Normally, I’d welcome the chance to hammer this guy. I’ve been known to get in a fight or two. Or three. But his two friends made it tricky. Besides, a fight would end my investigation before it even began.
“How about if I do you a favor and kick your butt?” he said, staring me square in the eye.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The guy was trying to be threatening and clever, but he was neither.
My laugh threw him. Clowns like this were used to their victims cowering in fear.
“I’ll do you an even bigger favor,” I said. “You want that faucet to run? Stick a penny behind the lever. That’ll keep it from shutting off.”
I stuck my hand into my pocket, pulled out a penny, and flipped it to him.
Nate let go of my shirt and caught the coin.
I took the opportunity to back away. These idiots had no idea what to do. They just stared at me, dumbfounded, as I strolled casually to the exit and got out of there.
I had no idea if the penny thing would actually work. I hoped it wouldn’t, or I’d be partially responsible for flooding the school. But I couldn’t worry about that, and I walked away quickly, hoping to blend into the crowd of kids before Nate and his merry men came after me. Or water started flowing out from under the bathroom door.
Once I was clear, I slowed down and got my first look at Coppell Middle School. Right off the bat I saw that it was nothing like Stony Brook Middle School. My school was modern, with wide corridors, brightly colored walls, and lots of windows that let in sunlight. This place was dark and full of shadows. The walls were made of brown brick, and the only natural light came in through narrow windows near the ceiling. Curved archways led from corridor to corridor, and the floors weren’t covered with tile or linoleum but real wood. The smell was different too. Stony Brook always smelled like disinfectant. This place smelled like…mold. It seemed more like Hogwarts than a modern middle school.
On the other hand, it was also totally familiar. The halls were packed. Some kids hurried through, while others just hung out. Turned out that kids from Massachusetts looked pretty much the same as kids from Connecticut. Or probably from anywhere else.
Massachusetts.
I was in Massa-freaking-chusetts. I had stepped out of the Library and been transported to another state. Another state of mind too. It’s tough enough figuring out where you belong in your own school. I was now in alien territory with no friends to rely on. I didn’t belong there. At some point a teacher was bound to corner me.
I pulled out my phone to check the time, but the clock wasn’t working. I couldn’t get a cell signal either; all it did was show me a home screen. Basically, it was useless. I guess when you drop into
a story courtesy of the Library, you can’t make calls home. Or play Temple Run.
I wandered around until I found a wall clock: 7:45. Same time as at home. The Library had transported me through space but not time. It was early morning, before the first class started. I knew that once the bell rang and the kids scrambled to first period, I’d be out in the cold without a hall pass. I had to find out whatever I could before the halls emptied. Nothing like a little pressure.
I found a set of doors that led outside to a huge courtyard. The school building was three sides of a square, with the open side facing a road. The courtyard looked to be the main place where kids hung out. It was a big school, like mine. There had to be a few hundred kids waiting around for first period to start. I walked down several cement steps and wandered through the crowd, trying to get a feel for the place. It was nearly November and there was a definite chill in the air. I wished I’d brought a jacket.
The building was four stories and made of the same brown brick as the inside corridor walls. Imposing white columns in front gave it the feel of some important government building. If I had to guess, I’d say it was well over a hundred years old. A wrought iron fence with a wide-open gate closed off the courtyard from the road, where SUVs kept pulling up to drop off kids. Looking beyond the road, I saw nothing but trees. There wasn’t a house or any other kind of building in sight. Coppell seemed like a rural school built out in the middle of nowhere.
The courtyard was packed. Some kids were talking in small groups, while others sat and read. A few tossed around a football.
I walked to the middle of the courtyard and did a three-sixty. In just a few minutes I had gotten a general sense of Coppell Middle School…and I still had no idea how to investigate the disruption.
A laugh went up from a group of kids crowded next to a far wall. Not knowing what else to do, I wandered over to see what the fun was.
What I found was not fun at all.
The kids formed a ring around a bench against the wall. Sitting on the bench and looking uncomfortable was a girl with long, wavy red hair. She hugged a backpack on her lap and stared straight at the ground, as though she wanted to be anywhere else. Sitting right next to her was the short thug from the bathroom. Nate.