Long Lost, стр. 16
Fiona rocked back on her heels.
It was The Lost One. It was her book. And Ms. Miranda was keeping it from her.
Why?
“Fifi!” said a familiar voice.
Fiona spun around.
Her dad stood behind her, looking exasperated. “Did you lose track of time?”
“Oh,” said Fiona. “Sorry. I just have to—”
“We need to go,” her dad interrupted. “We have to stop at the grocery store before it closes too. Come on.”
Before Fiona could argue, he steered her toward the doors.
“Hey, Dad?” Fiona asked a half hour later, as the two of them picked through a box of spinach leaves at the kitchen sink. “Can you take me back to the library before your first class tomorrow?”
Her dad gave her a small sideways grin. “You really like that place, huh?”
“There’s a book I couldn’t check out that I have to finish reading.”
“You’re hooked.” He nodded knowingly. “That’s the danger of good books. They’re a gateway to harder reading. One leads to another, and soon you’ll be up all night, mainlining encyclopedias.”
“I’ve done that,” Fiona admitted.
“Yeah.” Her dad sighed. “I think it might already be too late for you.”
“What time will you be leaving tomorrow?” asked Arden from behind them. She was chopping strawberries for the salad into perfect heart-shaped slices.
“Around ten,” said her dad. “Why do you ask, skater girl?”
“I don’t have practice tomorrow. Maybe I’ll come along.”
Fiona spun toward her sister. “To the library?”
Arden shrugged. “It sounds better than being alone in this house for the whole day.” She glanced around the kitchen, like it might be listening in. “It’s kind of quiet and creaky at the same time, you know? It doesn’t quite feel like it’s ours yet.”
“That’s a great plan.” Their dad smiled from one sister to the other. “You can keep each other company. We’ll head to the library at—”
“No,” Fiona blurted, so loudly that the others stared at her like she’d just shoved a handful of spinach into her ear.
She couldn’t have Arden at the library. Not now. Not when she was pursuing something complicated and odd and possibly forbidden, something Arden would never understand.
“I mean—you’d just get bored,” Fiona faltered. “I can’t keep you company. I need to find and finish this book, and I don’t want any distractions.”
“Fiona.” Her dad blinked at her. “There’s room for both of you in that giant library.”
“Never mind,” said Arden, before Fiona could speak again. “I just thought it might be less boring than being here. If I knew it would be some huge issue, I wouldn’t have suggested it at all.” She turned away.
“Arden . . . ,” said their dad.
“Never mind. Really.” Arden swished out of the kitchen, leaving Fiona and her dad alone.
Fiona stared down at the spinach. Still, she couldn’t help but notice the way her dad looked at her—like she was a specimen on a laboratory table, but one that he couldn’t quite identify.
Chapter Nine
In myths, important gates were often blocked by guardians. Fiona had read enough folklore to know this. These guardians could be three-headed dogs, or hungry crocodiles, or angry bears with indigestion.
Apparently, in the real world, they could also be librarians with Wonder Woman figurines perched in their hair.
“Good morning!” Ms. Miranda looked up from the circulation desk as Fiona charged through the library doors. “Fiona Crane, right? New in town? Nice to see you back so soon!”
“Good morning,” Fiona answered. She stepped to the desk, making her face and voice as innocent as she could. “I was wondering—did you find that book I was talking about? The Lost One? You said it wasn’t in the collection, but I was thinking that maybe somebody just left it here, and maybe somebody else found it when they were picking up at the end of the night?”
Ms. Miranda’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m afraid you’re still out of luck,” she said. “And I know how annoying it is to leave a mystery half finished. Believe me.”
“Okay.” Fiona took a step backward. “Just thought I’d check. Thank you anyway.”
Fiona turned her back on the circulation desk.
Sometimes the heroes of folklore had to use tricks, but they always found a way past the guardians eventually.
Fiona would do the same.
Taking a last glance at the STAFF ONLY hall, she sauntered casually toward the reference room.
The windows of the long rectangular room let in a green-gold haze of summer sunshine. A few strangers were seated at the big oak table, reading, making notes. They looked up as Fiona scurried by. Pretending not to notice, she browsed the tall bookshelves until she found something that looked interesting: a book about witch hunts in colonial New England. She turned around, gripping the book, and nearly smacked straight into someone else.
The boy with pale blond hair.
He frowned, leaning toward Fiona’s face. “What are you doing here?” he whispered.
Fiona had already felt unwelcome. But now she knew she was. Because this was a strange question to ask someone who was clearly picking out books in a library.
“I was just looking for a book,” Fiona whispered back.
The boy glanced down at the title in her hands. “You’re interested in local history?”
“Yes,” said Fiona, wondering why the boy said “local history” as though it was some kind of secret password. “I like history.”
“I thought so,” whispered the boy. Then, with another significant look at Fiona, he hurried away.
Fiona stood alone by the bookshelves as a wave of longing for her friends crashed through her. She and Bina and Cy and Nick were all a little bit odd, according to other kids at school. Most sixth-graders didn’t pass notes