“Crickets chirped tales of long-lost discoveries, forgotten moments as vast as the stars. In the stillness of midnight, I wondered if the moon remembered, or if even the cosmos itself could forget.”

The sun poured in on my face as I turned the last page of my Detective Penny book. I took a deep breath and sighed. Another great mystery. Some things, some people, once forgotten, could never be remembered.

I had to talk to someone about this. I set the book on the pale wood dresser beside my bed and stretched. The plants that circled my room seemed to stretch with me as they reached toward the sun. I cupped a pothos leaf and smiled, then it faded. Even these wouldn’t last forever.

I stepped downstairs, lightly running my hand across the smooth chestnut banister.

“Mom,” I called out.

“Hm?” Mom leaned around the wall separating the living room. She was sitting on the couch with her legs curled up beside her, and she pulled away from her book. She always read those adult mystery thrillers. I wasn’t allowed to read them.

“Mom, I just finished the Penny book where she goes to the observatory.”

“Oh, nice,” Mom smiled. “Did she solve the mystery again?”

I chuckled, “Of course, she always does. But it was…kinda creepy. The way things can be forgotten.”

Mom’s brows pulled together. “Like car keys?”

I laughed, “No! Like…” my lips tightened, “like discoveries and people,” I mumbled.

“Oof, that is creepy.”

“It’s almost like it doesn’t even matter what we do because it could all be erased someday.”

“Oh, that’s not true.” She cocked her head and her wavy, brown hair clumped on her shoulder. “It all makes a difference, even if we don’t realize it. There’s…ripple effects, ya know?”

I nodded. Maybe I was being dramatic.

Mom smiled again, and her eyes scrunched up. “What are you doing now?” she asked as I stepped into the living room. It was so quiet. Mom couldn’t read with that chunky TV on. It sat in the corner on a small, square table beside the fireplace, since we didn’t use it often. And we only had like five VHS tapes.

“Mmm…I don’t know. Wait for the next Penny book, I guess.” I plopped on my back next to her on the couch.

“Oh, come on. Why don’t you go read one of your other books?”

“I read them all already.”

“Don’t you have a favorite one to re-read?”

“No, because I don’t want to get tired of it.” I sat up and peeled the white curtain back on the window behind the couch. “Remember what happened with The Westing Game? Now I can’t even think about reading it anymore.”

“The puzzle one?”

I nodded, staring at the Sugar Maple’s colored leaves scattered across the street.

“What about your mysteries? Anything weird going on in the neighborhood?” She smiled.

I scrunched my lips and shook my head, glancing toward the houses across the road. I used to spy on the neighbors to see if they had any super family secrets or ancient trinkets hidden in their backyards. It was fun, but Mrs. Faulkner caught me and said I was too old for that, so I stopped.

It was silent for a second as Mom held her thumb in her book and stared at the floor.

“Well, I’ll let you read.” I let the curtain drop and heaved myself off the couch.

Mom reached toward my arm, but I was too far. “Don’t worry, you don’t bother me.” She let her hand fall to the earthy-striped couch.

“I just wish I knew someone else who read Penny books.”

Mom’s face scrunched up. “I know. What about the names on the circulation record at the library?”

“No, they’re all in different classes or something. I didn’t recognize any of them.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone. Ask Mrs. Willows tomorrow if she can do some kind of book club or something for the mysteries.”

I smiled, a rush running through me. “That would be so fun!”

Mom laughed. “Good. I hope it goes well,” she called as I clomped back upstairs.

***

In the school cafeteria, I scarfed my lunch down to get to the library before the bell rang. Mrs. Willows sat behind her desk, her lips moving as she pointed at barcodes on the books.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Hey, Mrs. Willows.” I waved.

Her long, silver waves bounced as she looked up and smiled. She raised an eyebrow behind her multi-colored glasses, “I hope you ate lunch. You’re early.”

“Yeah, it was fine.” I leaned against the counter. “I came to ask you about maybe starting a mystery book club here in the library?”

“Um.” She shook her head, the strands of beads hanging from her glasses clinked. “I don’t know right now, there’s…kind of a problem.” She let out a nervous chuckle.

“What’s wrong?”

She sighed. “There was a trolley filled with twenty-five books for Mr. Weston’s class and now the trolley—and the books—are gone. I have a bunch of work to do and I still have to find those books. I’m sorry, Emily.”

I nodded. “Well, maybe someone just moved the trolley somewhere else?”

“I doubt it. I’ve already checked the library, but I can’t really leave right now.” She lifted a stack of books and swept around the counter and down an aisle. After sliding a few into their places, she lifted her glasses.

It was lunch break, so I didn’t have time to help her find the books, but if I could take that weight off her, maybe she could help me start a club.

“Might someone have taken them to the classroom for you?”

“I wondered the same,” she looked over her glasses at me, “and I already called Mr. Weston. He said the books never arrived.”

“Can I help you find them?”

“That’s sweet of you, Emily, but you really don’t have to, and…I just can’t guarantee I can get that club going for you, dear.” She pursed her lips and gave me a sympathetic look.

“It’s okay, I’ve got time before the bell.”

“Well…If you insist. It would be a big help and a load off my shoulders.”

“I’ll do what I can.” I turned and took a few steps away, but I didn’t know where I was going. Books and trolleys didn’t just disappear. Where would Detective Penny start? I pressed through the library doors.

The hallway was quiet and it felt strange as I passed each empty classroom. After about ten minutes of peeping through the doors for a trolley, I noticed a strange streak on the ground around a corner. Like those rubber streaks left behind by sneakers. Except there were two parallel marks, like the book trolley. Was someone racing this thing around the corner?

I checked a few classrooms in that direction and found nothing. I thought for a moment then took out my journal and wrote one more option.

Someone took them, but why? Who would want that many copies of the same book?

Tapping my pen against my journal, my eye caught on something unusual. This potted corn plant was always facing the same direction, but today it looked almost completely different. Maybe it was just bumped, but I wasn’t convinced. I twisted it back the way it usually looked, and a book inside the leaves caught my eye.

I reached in and pulled out one of the copies of the missing books. Was someone playing a prank? And why would they prank on Mrs. Willows?

I walked back to the library, clutching the book to my chest.

Mrs. Willows sped around, tucking books in their places.

“I found this one in the corn plant down the hallway.” I handed Mrs. Willows the book.

She shook her head and her lips went thin.

“I can help you look for the rest.”

“No, you have class soon. I’ll find the rest before I go home. But I know what you can do. Better than I could.”

A rush ran through me. “What’s that?”

“Find out who did it.” She winked.

Perfect.

***

I would keep an eye out for the culprit throughout the day when we switched between classes. I spent a little more time in the hallway, rather than rushing straight to class. Kids walked in pairs or groups, chatting and laughing.

As I leaned against the wall near the library, cradling the books for my next class, there were two boys I recognized but never spoke to. A red-headed boy with curls, and a short boy with a buzzed cut. He reached into a small alcove in the white brick wall. There was a painting in there, but they had no reason to touch it.

They must have been hiding another book. I pressed off the wall and speed-walked over, the chunky heel of my boots thumping down the empty hallway.

They turned and shooed each other away as I got closer.

“What’s…going on?” I asked.

“Nothing. Just hanging out.” He hid something under his shirt while they snickered and turned away.

“Mrs. Willows knows you’re hiding books.”

The redhead turned back, “Yeah,” He flung his arm up, “because you told on us, like a brat.”

“Yeah,” The other boy said, “why do you always have to go around snooping? It’s stupid. That’s why no one likes you. Because you tell on everyone.”

My skin grew hot. “I didn’t tell on you.”

“Well don’t, or we’ll tell everyone to stay away from you because you’re gonna tell on them for everything.” The redhead said with venom in his words.

I shook my head. I didn’t want to tell on people, but I couldn’t help it if they were doing stupid things. But I also didn’t want to make it harder on myself to make friends.

I sighed and stared at the tiny scuffs on my boots. “Tell me where the books are and I won’t tell her it was you,” I mumbled.

“Yeah right,” he laughed. “And I’m keeping this one,” he held up the book for me to see, then hooked it under his arm. “Good luck finding the rest.” They laughed.

I almost started crying when Mrs. Willows stormed around the corner.

“Hi, Kurt. Jeff.” She smiled and nodded once, then saw the book under his arm. “What’s that? Were you boys hiding books?”

They must have done something that gave it away because she said, “What were you boys thinking?” and crossed her arms.

“We’re sorry.” They said at the same time.

“No, I asked what you were thinking.”

The short one grunted and gave me an ugly look past Mrs. Willows. Then he looked back at her. “These school books are boring and we didn’t want to be forced to read another one. So we thought we’d hide them.”

“Well, when class is over, you two will stay after school and bring the rest—and the trolley—back to me. You won’t leave until you’ve gathered them all. And I’m calling your parents because you and I both know you won’t be handing them a letter.” She snatched the book from under his arm and stood tall as she walked back to the library, her flats silent.

“Aw, come on!” The redhead’s arms flopped to his sides, and he rolled his eyes at me like it was all my fault.

I’d never have friends after this. I could easily be one of those people from Detective Penny’s book that left the world forgotten. A chill ran up my spine.

Mrs. Willows winked at me as she passed, and the boys trudged back to class.

The bell rang, and I walked toward class, watching the small stripes of the floor pattern. No one liked the same stuff as me. They found it weird and annoying. Could I drop all the detective stuff? Then what would I do? Now I just wanted my mom.