I decided to spend Wednesday’s last period study hall checking out books from the school’s library. I smiled when I saw my mother’s books on the shelf. “'The Espineli Trilogy' by Penelope Arrington,” I muttered as my fingers ran across the spines, she used her maiden name. There were only two of the books, though. My head tilted sideways as I realized that book two was missing.
I walked towards the librarian and smiled at him politely. “Hello. Do you know who has 'The Espineli Trilogy' by Penelope Arrington?”
It felt odd asking for my mother’s book, especially when I have three of the original copies at home. The librarian quickly typed away at the keyboard, eyes flickering from the screen to the keys repeatedly. I’m curious as to who in this school actually reads my mother’s books. It’s
