This is the first time I’ve been to the school
library since moving here. It’s smallish with
shelf-lined walls, three computers, and a single
table in the middle.
“May I help you?” asks an older woman in
jeans and knee-high black leather boots as she
steps out of a tiny back office. She looks at me
through round, red-rimmed glasses. Her short
hair is gray, and the very tips are dyed purple.
“Yes, I’m looking for some newspaper
articles on Billy Jones.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Billy Jones? Why?”
“Mrs. Whyse sent me to do research,” I say.
Her head tilts. “Mrs. Whyse sent you?”
“Yes,” I say loudly and with conviction
because, well, it’s technically true.
“Well then, wait one moment please.”
She disappears back into her office
and shuts the door. I hear some shuffling
around before she comes out with a large
brown folder. “These are copies,” she says. “I
ordered them at the beginning of the school
year when kids started asking about the
ghost. Don’t take them or write on them or
22
