I knew I was in trouble when I was called from class to come immediately to the school library.
I was in the eighth grade and I never got into trouble. But the librarian didn’t summon one of her aides from a class unless something big was wrong. I didn’t really care for Pernie Mae King, but she seemed to like me. I seemed to be her most trusted aide that year. But I was in trouble this time.
When I arrived, she confronted me with the checkout slips for about a dozen books — and I knew I had been caught. The library allowed students to check out no more than two books at a time, which was a painful limit for someone who read as many books as I did. I had been taking as many books as I wanted and hiding the checkout slips in a secret place behind the aide’s desk. But she had found my hiding place and figured out what was going on.
I quietly walked to my locker on the second floor and brought back all the books which my criminal actions had accumulated. But Pernie Mae King never said another word about it. I don’t think she really wanted to punish someone for the crime of reading too many books.