Free All Rise for the Honorable Perry T. Cook by Leslie Connor Page B

library. That makes sense to me because Mom sometimes says that history is not always comfortable either.
    We eat the granola bars and start our homework. There is a grandfather clock that tick-tocks at us in a serious sort of way. I lean forward to tell Zoey, “If that thing had fingers it would be shaking one of them at us.” She squelches a laugh.
    There’s supposed to be no talking, no noise in the History Room. (Somebody forgot to tell that clock that.) The rule makes this room unpopular with most kids. Zoey and I whisper and nobody kicks us out. But we are not invisible. Mr. Olsen, who runs the after-school program, spots us. He knows that we have not signed up, and we are supposed to.
    â€œUh-oh,” Zoey whispers. She barely moves her mouth. She sings to me, “He’s looking at us . . .” She crumples her granola bar wrapper and stares down at her rainforest workbook.
    I try not to let Mr. Olsen see that my eyes are seeing him. But of course that quadruples all this seeing that is going on. He comes right over to our table. He’s got his clipboard tucked against his chest.
    â€œHello-odles, mighty eyeballers,” he says. “Me again. It’s the end of the week. You two haven’t chosen a program. I’mhere to apply pressure.” We must be giving him twin looks, because the next thing he says is, “What a pair of pouts!” Then he laughs loudly right there in the History Room.
    â€œAll right, all right,” he says. “I get it. Joining up isn’t your bag. But listen to these fine offerings.” He refers to his clipboard. “Board Games is very uncrowded. Young Watercolorists, now that’s a noninvasive species.”
    I look at Zoey. She is biting her bottom lip.
    â€œAnd there’s still room for one—but I will make room for two—in the fiercely popular Computer Video Boot Camp.” I think our faces must be blank. He draws a big breath. “Or . . . or . . . if you really want to be revolutionaries, you could be in my brand-new group called . . . Library Volunteers!” He sags. “Okay. I should be more creative about that title,” he says. “Anyway, the volunteers schlep and shelve books, among other thrilling tasks. Or they will. When they start. If you start. Oh, please say you’ll start,” he begs. “We could use the help.”
    Zoey and I are silent.
    â€œPuh-leese!” Mr. Olsen groans.
    Zoey squirms from side to side. “Well, since Friday is already half over, can we give you an answer on Monday?”
    â€œDeal!” he says. He retucks his clipboard, gives us a wave, and strides away.
    When he is out of sight I whisper, “Do you think there is anyone else who hasn’t signed up?”
    â€œI get the feeling it’s just us,” Zoey answers. “We have tochoose. What do you want to do, Perry?” But before I can answer she adds, “I’m not doing Video Boot Camp. Brian and the line-butting lunchroom boys are all in there.”
    â€œYeah, I saw that,” I say.
    The truth is, I would’ve liked to do it. I can only shoot short videos with the camera Zoey gave me. I would like to find out how to put them on the computer and string them together. But when I saw the swarm on that first day of sign-ups, I backed off.
    A scraping sound tears through the quiet History Room. We hear a bump and a crash. A few feet away, a book cart has plowed down a pair of the spindly chairs. The books in their slippery bindings fall from the cart. Fwap. Fwump. Fwap-fwap. Fwump!
    â€œOh dear! Oh lordy!”
    I know who says that. I pop out of my chair, calling, “Mrs. Buckmueller!” Then I realize that it’s Friday. She should be in the Bucking Blue Bookmobile on her way to Blue River.
    Fwap-fwap. Fwump!
    The books keep sliding. Mrs. Buckmueller leans her whole self across the top of the cart. She looks like a chicken that’s fallen down on its chest