A pair of navy heels clicks on the floor, stopping near my head. “M… Mrs. Malthazzar,” I stammer.

The librarian glares at me through her spectacles.

It’s too quiet, even for the reference section.

I fumble for words, anything to explain this situation. “Books… up… must reach… climb… Spider-Man… can’t fly… falling… so many encyclopedias…” I always did have trouble talking to women. Mrs. Malthazzar is old enough to be my grandmother, but she is fine. That doesn’t make things any easier.

“Your father told me you were a responsible young man,” she growls (seductively). “He said you were perfect for this job.”

I’ve never heard her speak this way before. It’s thrilling. I can’t feel my bruises anymore.

Mesmerized by those lips, I don’t even register the words she’s saying. This is the lecture I’ve been waiting for. I think.

It ends with “and I don’t want to see you in this building ever again.” She walks away.

Wait, what? And I’m still trapped under this bookcase! Help! Anyone! Dad!