us.
And
our ginormous Save Our Library banner.”
“Okay,” Travis said. “I’m in.”
“And by the way,” Hil said. “The banner should have a giant sun on it, don’t you think? The flyers should, too.”
Miss Babb looked at Hil, her head tilted.
“Well, it’s S-O- L, isn’t it, Save Our Library?” Hil said. He looked around, but no one answered. “Sol? It’s Spanish for the sun.”
“Oh, that’s perfect, Hilario,” Miss Babb said. “Can anyone draw a sun?”
To Travis’s surprise, the man in the important-looking suit raised his hand.
“Now, what’s next?” Miss Babb said.
By the end of the meeting, five different projects were planned and the responsibilities divvied up, and the next meeting of the committee was scheduled. The city council would meet in a few weeks to make its final decision, and the committee had to be ready.
“We’re done saving the world for today,” Miss Babb said. “See you next week. Are there any cookies left?”
Not one crumb.
On the way out, Travis picked up a copy of
The Long Valley
from the long shelves of Steinbeck’s work near the main checkout counter. The book was displayed on top, face out, on a one- book wire stand. He wasn’t finished with the books he’d checked out last week, but there was something about the library that always made him want more books. Sometimes when he was with his parents—before the move—he’d take more books than he could possibly read in the three weeks he was allowed to have them. And today, the urge to take another book was even stronger, as if he had to stock up before the library closed.
Besides, he was already done with
The Pastures of Heaven
—and halfway through a second time—and something about that book was calling him to read more Steinbeck. In
The Pastures of Heaven
, nothing and no one were quite what they seemed. The man who told everyone he was rich had very little money. The deformed Tularecito was thought by most people to be a freak, but he turned out to be an amazingly talented artist. And the place itself, the Corral de Tierra, was imagined as a paradise, yet it was dangerous and mysterious. Maybe Steinbeck had more to tell him about those things that weren’t what they seemed; maybe Travis could learn something from Steinbeck about his own world. Couldn’t hurt to take one more book.
Outside the evening was beautiful, deep purple and hushed. The heat had dropped again, and there was a hint of real autumn around the edges of Indian summer. Travis could smell the new season in the air—baked soil and dead leaves waiting for the first rains. There was no wind, only a gentle breeze.
Hil’s mom and Miss Babb were talking and laughing together. Miss Babb tapped Travis on the shoulder as he went by, and smiled her thank- you smile. Hil was waiting for him.
“Dude, Hil,” Travis said. “Great idea about the car wash. And the sun, too. Sol, I get it. I had no idea you were so into the library, I mean—”
“I know, T,” he said. “I know what you thought. I know you’re tired of playing video games, I get it. You’re thinkin’, ol’ Hil, he’s just a vidiot, glued to the tube, sits there—”
“No, no,” Travis said. “It’s just that I, I mean, we, well, until—”
“Camazotz day. I know. It’s cool, T, I didn’t know either. But it doesn’t matter. We’re here now.”
“Yeah.”
Travis put out a robotic hand, and they executed a lengthy Camazotz handshake.
“Travis, would you like a ride home?” Hil’s mom asked.
He was dying to go by the Steinbeck House again, but wasn’t quite ready to tell Hil about what he’d seen there. It was probably just some teenager sneaking around, but why would a sneaky teenager break into a house to sit in the window? No, it was more than that, he just wasn’t sure what. He wanted to check into it.
He begged off , told Hil and his mom he had an errand to run—what it might be, he’d never be able to say. He made plans with Hil
And
our ginormous Save Our Library banner.”
“Okay,” Travis said. “I’m in.”
“And by the way,” Hil said. “The banner should have a giant sun on it, don’t you think? The flyers should, too.”
Miss Babb looked at Hil, her head tilted.
“Well, it’s S-O- L, isn’t it, Save Our Library?” Hil said. He looked around, but no one answered. “Sol? It’s Spanish for the sun.”
“Oh, that’s perfect, Hilario,” Miss Babb said. “Can anyone draw a sun?”
To Travis’s surprise, the man in the important-looking suit raised his hand.
“Now, what’s next?” Miss Babb said.
By the end of the meeting, five different projects were planned and the responsibilities divvied up, and the next meeting of the committee was scheduled. The city council would meet in a few weeks to make its final decision, and the committee had to be ready.
“We’re done saving the world for today,” Miss Babb said. “See you next week. Are there any cookies left?”
Not one crumb.
On the way out, Travis picked up a copy of
The Long Valley
from the long shelves of Steinbeck’s work near the main checkout counter. The book was displayed on top, face out, on a one- book wire stand. He wasn’t finished with the books he’d checked out last week, but there was something about the library that always made him want more books. Sometimes when he was with his parents—before the move—he’d take more books than he could possibly read in the three weeks he was allowed to have them. And today, the urge to take another book was even stronger, as if he had to stock up before the library closed.
Besides, he was already done with
The Pastures of Heaven
—and halfway through a second time—and something about that book was calling him to read more Steinbeck. In
The Pastures of Heaven
, nothing and no one were quite what they seemed. The man who told everyone he was rich had very little money. The deformed Tularecito was thought by most people to be a freak, but he turned out to be an amazingly talented artist. And the place itself, the Corral de Tierra, was imagined as a paradise, yet it was dangerous and mysterious. Maybe Steinbeck had more to tell him about those things that weren’t what they seemed; maybe Travis could learn something from Steinbeck about his own world. Couldn’t hurt to take one more book.
Outside the evening was beautiful, deep purple and hushed. The heat had dropped again, and there was a hint of real autumn around the edges of Indian summer. Travis could smell the new season in the air—baked soil and dead leaves waiting for the first rains. There was no wind, only a gentle breeze.
Hil’s mom and Miss Babb were talking and laughing together. Miss Babb tapped Travis on the shoulder as he went by, and smiled her thank- you smile. Hil was waiting for him.
“Dude, Hil,” Travis said. “Great idea about the car wash. And the sun, too. Sol, I get it. I had no idea you were so into the library, I mean—”
“I know, T,” he said. “I know what you thought. I know you’re tired of playing video games, I get it. You’re thinkin’, ol’ Hil, he’s just a vidiot, glued to the tube, sits there—”
“No, no,” Travis said. “It’s just that I, I mean, we, well, until—”
“Camazotz day. I know. It’s cool, T, I didn’t know either. But it doesn’t matter. We’re here now.”
“Yeah.”
Travis put out a robotic hand, and they executed a lengthy Camazotz handshake.
“Travis, would you like a ride home?” Hil’s mom asked.
He was dying to go by the Steinbeck House again, but wasn’t quite ready to tell Hil about what he’d seen there. It was probably just some teenager sneaking around, but why would a sneaky teenager break into a house to sit in the window? No, it was more than that, he just wasn’t sure what. He wanted to check into it.
He begged off , told Hil and his mom he had an errand to run—what it might be, he’d never be able to say. He made plans with Hil
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