Just Breathe Read Online Free Page B

Some might be going out with you to your house!”
    He thinks about this for a second. “Which ones?”
    “It depends on what your mummy says, or if you get to choose some. But remember we have to be quiet in libraries...”
    “Cuz the books will get cranky if you wake them up early,” he says solemnly.
    “Yes—what?” I wonder how he made that leap.
    “That’s what happens when I wake mommy up too early.” Oh. The mom is now alert and walks over.
    “I’ll take it from here.” She looks at my tag. “Elle.”
    I nod and make my way back behind the desk.
    “The books are sleeping?” Jan smiles. “That was brilliant.”
    “That’s why I make the big bucks!”
    “Now.” She looks at the stack of books she’s cradling. “Would you rather take these to the dungeon, or man the desk?”
    Holding out my arms as an answer, she unloads the giant load of books into my arms.
    The dungeon is what we call Storage Room D. Cement blocked, ten degrees colder than the other rooms, isolated; it’s where we keep the extra new copies of library books and any books donated or discarded before they go out for sale. I’m not sure why it’s called the dungeon—some things are just accepted without question. It was called the dungeon when I started, and when Deb started before me, and Lucille before her... back to the dawn of librarians.
    I wrangle the books into one arm and unlock the dungeon with my free hand. Even libraries aren’t immune to theft or vandalism. We even had to start locking the bathrooms and lending out the keys one at a time because someone started a fire in the men’s room four months ago. It’s sad to see it, but some people will try to ruin anything just for the sake of destruction. The only thing really ruined was the toilet paper dispenser, which was easily replaced. But something more was ruined in all of us who love this place like a second home, something not as readily replaced.
    Cool air that smells vaguely of ink, paper, and mildew greets me as I pull open the heavy door. A few months ago the pipes leaked all over a box of donated books. Like an old western hero, the smell never died, it’s just faded away.
    Breathing in the cool musty air, I set my armload of books down on the centrally located sorting table. This table is used when we sort the discarded and donated books into fiction and nonfiction for the sales we have every couple of months. The walls are all lined with bookshelves that are full of new copies of library books to replace any books that get wrecked or worn out, and seasonal volumes. There simply isn’t room for all the library books we have, and bumping out of season Valentines, Easter, Halloween, Christmas books, etc. to storage frees up much needed shelf space.
    Most people would be surprised to learn that just under half of our books are in circulation; that is to say, out of the library or loaned out to another library. Despite this fact, our shelves always appear to be about eighty percent full. There simply isn’t room for all of our books to be on our shelves. It would be a nightmarish day from hell if for some reason everyone returned their library books on the same day, or week, without taking anything else out. For real. Cold sweat, nervous breakdown, call-in- dead day from hell.
    Lined up to the side of one wall are legal boxes, one after another after another, filled with books for sale. We don’t sort them beyond fiction/non-fiction, except the mass market paperbacks get picked out and sorted into their own boxes. It’s chaos. We generally set up tables for the sales and let the patrons go nuts. There isn’t time to sort everything by genre or alphabetically; at the moment there are fifty boxes of books, and we had a sale only a month ago.
    The stacks of boxes have become a bit precarious; sometimes I have visions of being crushed to death under them. Depending on the day I’ve had, and the quality of the books in the boxes, that’s either a great way to