“Grace asked me to eat lunch in the library today,” I told Ms. Pigeon. “Don’t worry,” I assured her, “I can get myself to the library easy-breezy. There’s no foot traffic that way since most people are headed to the lunchroom. And I brought my lunch today. So you don’t even have to get me a tray.”

  Ms. Pigeon looked concerned about this, glancing back and forth between us. She was a rule follower, I could tell. Sometimes I am, too. But when a magical hummingbird is floating around somewhere nearby, rules can’t matter.

  “That’s fine, but be careful,” she insisted.

  “Want to push me?” I asked Grace.

  Her eyes sparkled again. “Really?”

  In a blink, Grace’s hands locked around the handles and we zoomed down the hallway.

  “Slow down!” Ms. Pigeon shouted.

  “Go faster,” I said, laughing as we rounded the corner.

  “Out of the way!” Grace hollered as we flew down the hall. People parted like a curtain in front of us. They were laughing, but not in a bad way. Not like I’d dropped my tray in front of the whole lunchroom. This was the good kind of laughing—the kind when somebody else’s happiness makes you happy, too. Joy-kabooms are contagious.

  “I’ll take it from here,” I told Grace when we’d wheeled past the last stampeding herd of hungry students. I followed her down an empty sunlit corridor, where pictures of construction-paper sunsets were plastered to the walls.

  “Library is at the end of the elementary hallway,” Grace said as we rolled down a ramp into the oldest part of the school. “Isn’t it a little weird that we’ve never heard about the bird until now? There are people who’ve seen the bird, but they don’t talk about it.”

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing,” I said to Grace. “I’d never even heard about the feathers falling until they happened.”

  “Isn’t your grandpa a famous bird-dude?”

  “Yes! Part of my heart thinks he didn’t tell me so I would discover all this myself. But I also wonder if, maybe, he thinks it’s not real.”

  Or knows it’s not real, I thought to myself. I’m not a class skeptic, like First Maddie, but I grew up hearing all sorts of stories and legends that weren’t exactly true.

  As if she could read my mind, Grace jumped around in front of me. I stilled my wheels just before I ran into her shins.

  “Olive,” Grace said very seriously. She stretched out her pinkie toward me. “The magic is real. We’ve got to believe that. BlumeBird Society Rule Number One: No matter how old or boring we get, we will never, ever stop looking for magic together. Especially not if the hummingbird is concerned.”

  I locked my pinkie in hers and nodded. I was so excited about the idea of having a friend to look for magic with that I forgot one very important fact. Promises are a lot like bones: Sometimes they break, no matter how hard you try to keep them safe.

  The entrance to the library tower was at the far end of the hallway. The arched door was wide and wooden with a large knocker shaped like a fox’s head right in the center.

  “This is like a cottage in a fairy tale where a wonderful witch lives,” I said.

  “Miss Snow’s not a witch,” said Grace. “Or if she is, she’s the best kind.”

  When she pushed the door open, it made the most delightful screeching scream of a sound. I wheeled inside and spun around, and looked up … up … and up.

  There were four stories of bookshelves, all accessible by a swirling ramp that led to the top floor. Skylights in the tower revealed storm-patched skies.

  “This used to be the school aviary,” Grace said. “Years ago, when the school first started, they kept all sorts of birds here. Which is how some people think all the birds came to Wildwood.”

  “Whoa!” I squealed suddenly as a large black shadow swooped down over me. A red-tailed hawk perched on the shelf of new releases.

  “How’d you get in here?” I asked it. But Grace was the one who answered, “He lives in here. This is where all the therapy animals hang out. Wait till you see the rest of this place!”

  I followed Grace up the swirling ramp, all the way to the top of the library tower: past the mystery floor, the biography floor, and an entire floor for graphic novels. Shelves spiraled all around the walls with rolling ladders steadied against them. And perched happily on the ladders, I noticed several birds: a tiny sparrow, a cockatoo, a hawk, and a cardinal. Long tables and funky couches were scattered around each level for students.

  I know I said that most places don’t look as wonderful as you imagine them. But libraries are different. Libraries are always better. And this one was the best.

  When we got to the top floor, a parrot leaped from a top shelf, spread its shiny green wings, and soared through the room. A few canaries perched on an empty table, sharing a scatter of birdseed. Two crows sat on a book stand. One scanned lines while the other used its beak to turn pages.

  The next thing I heard was a voice that sounded like winter wind and tinkling chimes. “Hello, ladies. I bet I know what you’re looking for.”

  Listen, friend. I don’t know if you’ve spent much time imagining how a mountain fairy would actually look, but I have. Maybe it’s because I live in a cottage in the woods. Or in a mountain town full of folktales. So here’s the truth: I wouldn’t be surprised if the lady standing in front of me had fairy wings hidden beneath her purple cardigan.

  She was a Black woman wearing a kind smile and a fluffy yellow skirt. Her long hair shimmered pink at the edges. And a tiny diamond stud sparkled on her nose like a fallen star. She stood beside a gray book cart, filled with thick novels my hands were aching to hold. And, most magically of all, sitting in the middle of the cart was a sloth wearing a green volunteer vest.

  “This is Rosie Snow, the librarian,” said Grace. “The lady, I mean. Not the sloth. The sloth’s name is Bon Jovi. Miss Snow, this is my friend Olive.”

  I’m pretty sure my heart exploded into confetti bursts of sunshine. Grace had called me her friend!

  “You look like a fairy,” I told Miss Snow. “In a good way.”

  “That’s so kind!” said Miss Snow. “Sadly, the only thing magical about me is book-picking. I can help you find a story that makes your heart spin. Or a story that scares you out of your wits. And if I can’t, Mrs. Fitch can.”

  “Is she your assistant?” I asked.

  Miss Snow leaned down and whispered, “She’s the ghost of the library. She’s worked here for over one hundred years—as long as Macklemore has existed. She knows where everything is but still doesn’t think graphic novels count as actual novels.” Miss Snow rolled her eyes. “So come to me for that. Otherwise, she’s a great help.”

  I wasn’t sure if Miss Snow was serious or joking, so I laughed nervously. But Grace nodded along like this was common knowledge.

  What kind of school was this?

  “Olive and I need a nook for research. We’re looking for yearbooks.” Grace lowered her voice. “We’re trying to figure out who saw the you-know-what last time it was here.”

  “Mr. Watson said some students our age saw the bird,” I added eagerly. “So I thought we’d start with the yearbooks from 1963, paying special attention to the sixth-grade class to get some clues.”

  “Smart idea,” Miss Snow said approvingly. She passed a novel to Bon Jovi and he climbed a shelf to house it for her.

  “There’s competition out there,” Grace said. “The blue moon rises in about two weeks. Sixteen days! So everybody’s trying to crack this riddle and figure out where it’s going to be. But it really, really matters to us.”

  “You don’t think it matters to other people, too?” Miss Snow asked gently. “I think everybody’s got a wish. A wish is hope with a little magic sprinkled on it, ya know? And when you hope for a thing for too long … it can hurt when it doesn’t happen.”

  “Do you have a wish?” I asked her.

  “Of course,” she said. “I don’t have time to go look for the hummingbird. But if I did, I’d wish for my family to be closer. Or for a friend here I love like family. I’ve been here a year now, but I’m still homesick. And yes, Grace, you all are my friends. But I need friends my own age, too.”

  “I get that,” I said softly. “That’s one of the reasons I came here.”

  “So it should make sense then,” said Miss Snow. “Everybody’s got a wish. Don’t forget that, okay?”

  “We take finding the hummingbird very seriously,” I assured her.

  When I said the full word—hummingbird—a strange hush settled over the room.

  Every bird in the library stopped singing and swooping.

  Grace stared at me wide-eyed like I’d just said BACON for the whole room to hear. “Maybe we should whisper when we talk about it, Olive. That got a little weird.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Miss Snow said. She stacked some returned library books on her cart like she wasn’t all that worried. “It’ll get weirder than that. Watch and see. Every bird in the sky is in awe of that glorious creature. Animals always know when magic is close by.”

  Bon Jovi the sloth stretched his arms toward me.

  “Can I … hold him?” I asked.

  “Absolutely!” Miss Snow said. “That’s why the animals are here!”

  When Bon Jovi wrapped his arms around me and smiled up into my face, my heart grew wings for the billionth time that day. He smelled like books and clean laundry. I loved him instantly, and I loved that he loved me.

  “I think you and Grace will make a fine team,” said Miss Snow. “Yearbooks are on this floor, over in Edna’s corner. Use the computer to find the section, okay? I’ll check on you in a bit and see if you need my help.”

  Miss Snow smiled at us, then turned down an aisle of candy-colored spines to store some nonfiction titles. Something about the way she spun made me stare. She looked like a sophisticated ballerina shelving books, swirling, spinning, skirt floating around her like a pale yellow cloud. That’s when I realized she had something in common with Grace, something beyond just a cool sense of style.

  They both had an easy kind of confidence, the kind that fits even better than floaty skirts or wicker wings. Neither of them seemed like the type to talk over another person, but they also didn’t mind taking up space in the world however they were supposed to. I wondered if I would feel that way once I could shove my wheelchairs and walkers in storage. I wouldn’t have to worry anymore if I was in somebody’s way, or if I could get my wheelchair through a door, even. I could just move in my own body. Move as myself.

  Gosh, I couldn’t wait to find the hummingbird.

  “Olive?” Grace asked. “You okay?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “I just get a little daydreamy sometimes. Who is Edna?”

  “Probably the coolest lady in this school besides Miss Snow,” Grace said, bouncing up on her toes. She hadn’t mentioned anyone named Edna helping us find the bird. But I was always up for more friends! I’d even brought extra nectar rings just in case!

  “Want me to push you?” Grace asked. “I know you can do it. But if you wanna keep holding Bon Jovi?”

  “Actually,” I said, “that’d be great. If you don’t mind.”

  “I got you,” she said. And we zoomed toward the computers, toward the yearbooks, and hopefully, toward a magical bird.

  True fact, friend:

  Edna is a llama.

  A fuzzy, golden llama, with hair as thick as an old carpet. She wore a special green vest just like the other volunteers, minus the generic name tag. Edna’s name was embroidered in rainbow pom-poms on the side of her vest.

  “I like to read to her sometimes,” Grace said, moving a chair for me so I could slide under the computer table. Bon Jovi climbed out of my lap and onto the top of the computer monitor to take a nap.

  “Is it okay to get close to Edna?” I asked.

  “Of course!” Grace said. “She’s a therapy llama, Olive.”

  She said this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if everybody knew therapy llamas didn’t bite.

  “Does she spit, though?”

  “That’s a camel,” Grace said, reaching for Edna’s fuzzy snout.

  I knew Grace wouldn’t lie, so I reached for Edna, too. The library-llama kneeled down quietly on the floor and rested her soft head in my lap. When I rested my hand on her fuzzy head, a warm, blissful peace overwhelmed me. Some people need mountains or oceans to feel peace. Some people prefer big adventures or favorite blankets. All I need is an animal close by. I’ve always wanted a dog, but Mama and Jupiter say we don’t have time to train one. And until we do, it might knock me over accidentally.

  I smiled as I petted Edna’s head. As soon as my wish was granted, I could get a dog!

  “Okay.” Grace pointed at the computer. “This says old yearbooks are located on the top-top shelf of Section A.”

  “What’s a top-top shelf?” I asked.

  “No clue. Let’s go find out.”

  I unlocked my brakes and followed Grace to the far shelves on the highest floor. The top shelf stopped about two feet below the ceiling. But it held zero yearbooks.

  Grace propped her hands on her hips, scanning the shelves like she was reading the lines of a book. “I still don’t understand what a top-top shelf is. How can it not be the one we see? This is so perplexing!”

  “Truly!” I agreed. “I mean, unless it’s invisible, there’s no higher place than the top. Let me ponder this for a second.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut tight and tried to think of good advice I’d been given about problem-solving. I get my best advice from Grandpa Goad and Dolly Parton. My favorite gem from Dolly is this: “Find out who you are and do it on purpose.” But this time, it was the Goad’s advice that won out. He would say, “Olive, listen to your heart. And listen to the birds.”

  I’d seen a pretty yellow finch when we climbed the library ramp. I always see them; that’s one of the first birds the Goad taught me to spot, besides rememory birds.

  “We should see how high the birds can go.” I wheeled closer to the the shelf, then unleashed my finch whistle. Finches are the first birdsong I tried to mimic, and I realized I was pretty good at doing it.

  “I don’t know where you learned that,” Grace said. “But it’s cool.” The finch came bobbing around the shelves, blue wings flapping. A quick flutter around our heads and then the bird darted vertically up the shelf. For a few heartbeats, the finch hovered above the top shelf we could see.

  And then it seemed to perch on the air.

  “Could the shelf be invisible?” I asked.

  “No, look, there’s a doorknob!” Grace said with a happy squeal. “I didn’t even notice it! There are cabinets up there, but they’re all the same color as the wall.”

  She ran for one of the ladders, steadied it against the books, and began to climb. “I hope we found this before the Maddies. They’re trying to solve the riddle, too. Dylan found out for sure.”

  Bacon, I thought as I tried to push down the panic in my heart. First Maddie, in particular, seemed like the kind of person who would always be lucky.

  “It’s locked,” Grace called down from the ladder, jiggling the cabinet door. But she didn’t sound frustrated. “It’s weird that they’re so well hidden, right? Why not just put them on normal shelves?”

  “Maybe Miss Snow put them somewhere safer since they’re so historic?” I said. “Or maybe she was just out of room. Want me to find her and ask if she has a key?”

  “Nope,” Grace said, stretching out her fingers. “It’s a pin-cylinder. Those are easy to pick.” She began to fiddle, and a moment later, the cabinet door creaked open, and I applauded.

  “Give me just a sec,” Grace said, waving billows of dust out of her face. “There are lots of yearbooks up here. I have to find the right one.”

  “Take your time,” I said. I rolled around the area we were in, scanning spines and whispering the titles of books. My heart fluttered when a familiar name caught my eye. I reached as high as I could and pulled a gray book from the shelf: The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson. Perfect! There was no better way to get in character for play auditions than reading her actual work. It’s like it was meant for me to find it there!

  “Jackpot!” Grace shouted as she wiggled out of the cabinet and stood on top of the ladder. She tossed down a thick book that clattered onto the carpet beside me. A plume of dust rose all around it.

  The little blue finch flapped around it for a second before lighting right on top and singing the sweetest song I’d ever heard.

  “Nineteen sixty-three,” I said. The numbers sounded like a wonderful spell when they rolled off my tongue. “Now, let’s see if there’s a bird in there.”

  Grace and I settled into a tiny table near one of the windows. She scoped out the area first, just to make sure we were alone, then scooted close beside me. I opened the crackly cover and scanned the pages slowly. We saw pictures of the school, the basketball team, the giant pumpkin grown by the third-grade class, and then—

  “Olive!” Grace shouted out my hallelujah-name and slammed her hand down on the page. The photo in front of us was black and white, a two-page spread of school buses parked in front of Macklemore. Speckled spots that looked like snow drifted all across the scene.

  “The feathers,” Grace breathed.

  “Yes!” I whisper-shouted. She clapped her hand against mine in a silent high five. I traced my finger underneath the lines of the caption as I read it aloud. “October brought the first blue moon in years to the Cumberland Plateau. And with it came swirls of strange white feathery sleet.”

  I heard the crackle of a chip bag as Grace opened it. “Sorry,” she said. “I get hungry when I get excited like this.”

  “I get hungry most of the time,” I told her.

  She passed me her chip bag to share and leaned over to flip through more pages of the yearbook. All the while, I kept glancing around to make sure we were alone. We knew the Maddies wanted the hummingbird. But who else was after it? And what if they’d thought of looking in the yearbooks, too? Hopefully, the deluge of dust meant this idea was ours alone.

 

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