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“Is it good?”
“Only the best book ever!”
Mrs. Surlaw smiled when she heard that. The only thing she loved more than books were children who loved books. She may have seemed severe on the outside, but inside, her heart was soft as a pillow.
Some libraries have separate areas for fiction and nonfiction. Mrs. Surlaw didn’t believe in that sort of thing. After all, who was she to decide what was true and what wasn’t?
She also didn’t believe in alphabetical order.
Her books were organized by number of pages. Skinny books were at one end of the library, and the fat ones were at the opposite end.
Along the shelves were number markers: 10, 20, 30 . . . all the way to 1,000. If someone in Mrs. Jewls’s class wanted to read this book, he or she could find it between the 180 and 190 markers.
Joy was looking through the books between the 40 and 50 markers. She had already read every book in the library with fewer than forty pages.
Allison liked long novels. She was looking through the ones that were between 230 and 240 pages.
Jason stood behind her, watching.
At last, Allison chose her book. It had 232 pages.
Jason took the one next to it, with 233 pages.
Allison scowled at him. She put her book back, and then chose one farther down the shelf, with 238 pages.
Jason put his book back too. He took one with 239 pages.
Allison pretended not to notice, even though she was burning inside. She looked at her book. “I think I already read this,” she said aloud. She returned it to the shelf. “La-di-da,” she said. “What book do I want to read?”
Suddenly she dashed to the end of the aisle, and around a corner.
Jason had trouble squeezing his book back into place. By the time he did, he couldn’t see Allison anywhere.
He went from one end of the library to the other, searching between the aisles. When he finally saw her, she was hugging the walrus. That meant she had already checked out her book.
He went to her. “Hey, Allison,” he said. “Can I see your book?”
“No,” she replied.
“How many pages?” he asked.
“I’m not telling you.”
“More than three hundred?”
“Maybe.”
“No way,” he said. “Even you wouldn’t read a book with more than three hundred pages.”
Allison shrugged.
“More than three hundred and fifty?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
“Five hundred?”
“Maybe.”
