Free The Cupid Chronicles by Coleen Murtagh Paratore Page B

It means they care about the part. Without passion the performance falls flat.”
    Nana and Gramp come in wearing sneakers. Good, Nana walked. Next comes Tina, Sulamina Mum, and Dr. Swammy Mrs. Saperstone isn’t coming. She said it was “my turn” tonight.
    The meeting drags on for hours. Finally, it’s time for “open comment on the library issue.” I walk to the front of the room. A few council members smile, others are talking, or writing, not paying attention to me. I read the names on the placards.
    First in the row is the chairman, Phinneus T. Langerhorn III. He’s wearing a fancy pinstriped suit and yellow bow tie. I check my list and reach in my bag. When I hand him the old book, he looks confused.
    â€œIt’s
Treasure Island,”
I say.
    Phinneus T. Langerhorn III opens the frayed jacket. He leafs slowly through the pages, pausing to lookat an illustration. He slaps the book shut. “That’s nice.”
    â€œLook in the back,” I say. “In the pocket.”
    Mr. Langerhorn opens the back cover. He takes out the card. “Haven’t seen one of these in years.” A wave of emotion flickers across his wrinkled face. “Hmmph.” He sniffs, clearing his throat. “Look at this.” He points out something to Mr. Sivler. “That was me, Phinny Langerhorn, a long time ago.”
    The next one on the list is Miss Phoebe Slingerlands, the richest and most powerful woman in Bramble. She was a famous botanist, even discovered some new species of royal lilies. Right now she looks royally bored.
    I reach in my bag and find the right book. “Miss Slingerlands.”
    â€œLittle Women,”
she says. “How sweet.” She hands it back to me.
    â€œLook in the pocket,” I say, giving the book back to her.
    Miss Slingerlands pulls out the card. She adjusts her glasses and begins reading the names aloud: “Devon Bender, Faith Picotte, Peggy McGarry oh, my good friend, Peg … oh, and look, there I am, Phoebe Slingerlands.” Miss Slingerlands’s lips tremble. She closes the book.
    â€œLook on page twenty-one,” I whisper.
    Earlier, when we went through the books Mrs. Saperstone and I had found, classics that certain members of this board had read as children, I noticed that in
Little Women,
a book Miss Slingerlands had renewed three times as a girl, there was a notation on page twenty-one. Next to a passage about Beth March, the girl in the book who loved to play piano, someone had written, “me too” and signed the initials “P.S.”
    Miss Slingerlands opens to page twenty-one. “Oh,” she gasps, bringing her fingers to her lips. “I forgot how I loved that piano.”
    Josiah Bulmer is ready for me. “I know.
Moby Dick,
right?”
    â€œJust call me Ishmael,” I say, handing him the famous whale tale.
    And so it went on, through
Great Expectations
and
Tom Sawyer …
    After I handed out the last book, I circulated copies of my research on the importance of libraries. I guess it made sense to do the heart stuff before the head stuff, because now the council members were paying attention, even encouraging me.
    But in the end, it was all about the money.
    â€œThank you for coming, Miss Havisham. It was a fine presentation,” Mr. Langerhorn says. Several board members nod their heads in agreement.
    â€œYes, good job, Willa,” Mr. Sivler says, “I’d hire you. But the bottom line is, the bank is foreclosing. We have several competing concerns and limited resources. Roadway maintenance, beach access issues … We all feel badly about the library, but something’s got to give. The funds just aren’t there.”
    â€œHow much money do we need?” I ask.
    â€œMore than we can squeeze out of this budget,” Mr. Sivler says, motioning like I’m dismissed.
    â€œWell, how much?” I ask again. “The Bramble Academy freshman class will be