parts of it are funny in a sick way. But all this stuff that Private Sam Shipman is writing to his girlfriend Daisy back home about what the American Army is doing in the Philippines, back in 1902? Killing all those women and children? That not what the history textbook we use in Miss Kelley’s class says.”
“What does it say, Arnold?”
Arnold shut his eyes and recited from memory. “The Spanish-American War broke out when a feeble, declining Spain met the surging power of the New World. The new harmony that America imposed from Puerto Rico to the Philippines was like a faint foretaste of the greater, Cosmic Harmony to come later in the century, when the High Ones came from the stars, bringing peace to the whole world.”
Gloria was impressed. “What do you think about that, Arnold?”
He shrugged. “It’s just boring. No one else in class pays much attention to that stuff. But Dad says it’s propaganda, and it makes him really mad.” Arnold looked back down at the book, flipping through it from front to back, then more slowly, from back to front. “Hey, this is weird!” he exclaimed, pointing at the Author’s Note.
“What is, dear?”
“It says here that Mark Twain meant for the book to be published ‘only after my death, if ever, out of an excess of cowardice on my part. Frankly, I was afraid for my earnings. But then a certain enchanting flame-haired lady convinced me that I must not withhold my thoughts any longer, and so I dedicate this work to Gloria.’ That’s your name, and you have red hair!”
“That is a strange coincidence, dear,” said Gloria, who knew perfectly well that it was not.
Arnold flipped back a bit further, to the title page. Then he whipped his head around and stared at Gloria. “Where is it?” he demanded.
“Where is what, dear?”
“Don’t make like you don’t know. Where’s the sticker? The Society for Common Decency sticker?”
Gloria pursed her lips again. “You mean the tiny American flag with a pair of hands clasped around the letters SCOD?”
“That’s the one! It’s stuck to the title page of every school and library book I’ve ever seen.”
“But I’ll bet it’s not in the books in your Dad’s attic.”
Arnold’s whole body trembled. It was a little scary for Gloria to see, especially because he was as tall as she was.
“You’re trying to get me in trouble!” he shouted. “It won’t work! I’ll, I’ll tell the principal, Mr. Wright, on you!” He pushed past her and pounded out of the library, past the slumped-over forms of Hailee and Bill, just as the bell rang.
Gloria smiled to herself and hummed a little tune as she put the offending Mark Twain book in a cubbyhole below the counter. She walked toward the back, her boot heels clacking on the tiles, until she turned a dim corner and disappeared from sight. There was a scraping noise, followed by a thump. A few moments later an orange tabby cat with strangely curved ears came trotting briskly out, just as Hailee and then Bill yawned and stretched.
The girl brushed the blond hair out of her eyes, smiling when she saw the cat. “Here, kitty kitty! Such a sweet puss! Who let you in here?”
“Yeah, who?” Bill grumbled, stifling a sneeze. “I’m allergic! Come on, Hailee, let’s go, we’ll be late for English!”
“Don’t worry, Bill, I’ve got your essay all written for you,” Hailee said, taking his arm as they walked out.
The cat leaped up on the counter and yawned widely, showing her sharp teeth. Nobody naps as well as a cat, she thought happily as she settled in. It was true what she’d told Arnold about his being the only person to come to the library for any reason other than using the n-readers, so the counter promised to be a good place for a nice long rest. Foreseeing this, Gloria had brought in her favorite comfortable cushion, a wine-colored throw pillow that was a gift from her old friend Teresa in Philadelphia, and put it beside the date due stamp that was gathering dust next to the inkpad. Suitably settled, Gloria (or Tiferet as it said on the tag she wore when she chose to be a cat) dozed away the day.
Not all her dreams were sweet. Luckily everyone was at recess when she started yowling.
* * * *
Quiet returned with the afternoon, a quiet that was hardly broken by the two tenth-grade girls who came in to use the n-readers for their algebra class. Tiferet opened one green eye and watched as they signed their names in the register: Madison Marbury and Kayleigh Scott. Madison had dirty-blond hair and a scattering of acne on the right side of her face, and Kayleigh was a little plump, with chestnut hair and a shrewd twinkle in her eye. They kept on chattering as they applied the electrodes to one another.
“Didja see that spaz Arnold this morning?” Madison said.
“Yeah, he was acting weird even for him,” Kayleigh said. “Like something was freaking him out.”
“His own face, probably.” Both girls laughed, then slumped as suddenly as if they’d been shot.
When the final bell jangled Tiferet looked up, jumped down from the counter, and trotted away into the dim back of the library. A moment later Gloria stepped out, smoothing her long red hair down over the pointy tips of her ears. As she walked up to the counter, first Kayleigh and then Madison yawned, stretched, and rubbed their eyes.
“Shh-kool’sh over already?” Kayleigh slurred. “That shucks. I was really into that massthink. Some of the guys in it were really dreamy.”
“I wish they’d let us stay here all day,” Madison said as she combed the electrodes out of her hair. “Even when I don’t get to see Justin, I always feel like a million bucks after being in the net.”
“You mean after ‘virtually’ making out with Justin,” Kayleigh teased as she wiped the last of the electrode-gel off her temples with a tissue.
“Girls, could you hurry up please?” interrupted Miss Fredericks, the music teacher with the long brown hair. “You’ve already used up five minutes of my time!”
“Me, too!” said the gym teacher, Mr. Lynch, as he shifted his weight from one hairy, bare leg to another.
The girls shouldered their backpacks, giggling, and pushed past Arnold as he came slouching back in, his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. The two teachers had already wired each other up by the time Gloria said hello to Arnold again.
“Hi,” Arnold said. “I—I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what, dear?”
“For being so rude to you earlier.” He turned around and watched the noisy end-of-the-day crowd in the hallway for a long moment.
“You can close the door if you want,” Gloria said. The teachers slumped in their chairs. Mr. Lynch’s eyes were half-open, staring at infinity.
Arnold nodded, the wrinkles on his forehead smoothing themselves out after he shut the door. “Thank you. I didn’t want anyone listening. Everyone on this island is so nosy.” Arnold clenched and relaxed his fists. “It just startled me, seeing a stickerless book like
