The door to the music room is open, and Miss Joon is talking to the trumpet player, who is a boy around my age who I do not recognize—which is odd for Ellis Field. I know everyone in the middle school band.

“Samantha!” she exclaims when she sees me. “This is Henry. He just moved here from Denver and will be in 8th grade with you in the fall.” He has lessons right before you every day. You should show him around.” I had heard a rumor that there was a new family moving into town from Denver, but gossip in Ellis Field is only 45 percent reliable most of the time. When my new neighbors moved in last year, there was a rumor that they were circus performers, but it turns out they sold insurance, and I got my hopes up for nothing.

Henry is tall, with green eyes and reddish-brown hair that is a bit longer than most of the boys in my class. He is wearing basketball shorts, sneakers, and a t-shirt with a possum and a sword on it that says “the Mountain Goats.” He stands up straight and has a relaxed smile, and I decide that he will likely be an instant member of the popular crowd at school because they can probably recruit him to play sports, when I notice his fingernails are painted a deep blue.

Because most of my friends are from the internet or honors band, living in bigger cities than Ellis Field, I’ve seen boys wearing nail polish before. But Ellis Field is a small town and I have never seen it happen here. I study Henry a little more closely. His hands are smudged with ink and his left hand has a very realistic drawing of a fluffy cat playing with a ball of yarn on the back of it. Around his right wrist is a light blue and white friendship bracelet like the kind I used to make at summer camp. His sneakers also appear to have drawings on them, and the shoelaces are different colors-purple on the right foot, dark blue on the left.  Under his left arm is, in my humble opinion, the holy grail of  notebooks--it’s royal blue and is the kind that looks like a hardcover book with two ribbons in the spine. As I examine him, I realize Henry may not be easily pigeonholed into the EFMS in crowd.

“So when are you free for the grand tour?” I say, striving for “friendly but not too excited” in my tone.

Unlike me, Henry gets openly excited. “Any time, really!” he says with a bright smile. There is a nervous energy behind his excitement, and Henry seems to bounce slightly as he stands waiting for what happens next. I consider what it must be like to move to a town where there are no kids your age after living in a big city like Denver. What it must be like to give up art classes--I am guessing here-- and move somewhere where you are surrounded by cornfields and basketball.  Maybe, when the school year starts, Henry won’t want to be friends with me, but for now, I can help him adjust to Ellis Field and figure out the rest as I go. 

“If you don’t mind waiting next door in the library while Sam has her oboe lesson, she might be able to show you around afterwards.” Miss Joon offers. We both nod. She continues, “if you like to read, they can probably get you set up with a library card. Maybe you’re interested in the summer reading program?”

“Awesome!” Henry replies. “See you after your lesson, Samantha.” Miss Joon points him to the library and then turns her focus to my oboe lesson. As I leave, Henry is talking excitedly to the librarians as Dr. Plume writes his name in the summer reading papers and Mr. Zaffre scans the shelves for books.

---

My oboe lesson is uneventful, but part of my mind stays with Henry in the library and the tour that I’m going to give him after the lesson. Was he just being polite? Would he even want to wait the full hour? I return to the library after my lesson, half expecting him to be gone. When I find him sitting at one of the tables, reading The Phantom of the Opera, I try not to let my excitement show. 

“That’s one of my favorites,” I tell him, pointing to the book.

“I’ve seen the movie, but I wanted to read the book. The librarians here are great!”

I look around and realize that both librarians are gone. As if reading my mind, Henry explains: “Mr. Zaffre left for the day about a half an hour ago, and Dr. Plume had to make a phone call. She said that if you came back, you could watch the desk for her.”

He puts his books in his backpack and we walk over to the desk together. 

“Do you really know how to run the library desk?” 

“Only for a short period of time, and only if they check out books. If they need microfiche, they’ll have to wait for Dr. Plume to get back.”

“Can you show me how to check out a book? I mean, if we don’t get into trouble?” 

I nod to say that it is okay, and Henry scans the shelf and finds and pulls a large book from the shelf--House of Leaves. I’m impressed.

“Okay, I’ll need your library card and the book.”

He slides them across the mahogany desk, and I input the book’s code and his library card number. The computer chirps at me, showing the book is checked out to Henry. 

“How do you learn this?” 

“I spend a lot of time here and Dr. Plume occasionally needs me to cover the desk like this.”

“Do you think she would teach me?” 

No one my own age has ever been impressed with my library skills. Before I can answer, Dr. Plume returns.

“Hello ducklings,” she says warmly. “I have returned to my post. Thank you for keeping watch. I relieve you of your responsibilities. Go forth and explore.” 

I mentally catalogue everything I plan to show Henry on the tour as we cross the library to the table to where our instruments and bags were stored and gather everything.

“Since I’m showing you around, what do you want to see?”

“Everything? I just got here and I haven’t seen the town at all. My mom grew up here, but the last time we visited, I was four. She decided to move here after the divorce.”

The mention of divorce caused my skin to feel a little prickly. Dad goes to camp every summer, but something about this summer feels different. When I asked Mom about Dad, she seemed to get grumpy, which almost never happens. Dad hasn’t texted as much as he used to, and Mom seems to be throwing herself into work extra hard, and while it wouldn’t be the first time I worried about something for no reason, it has been a lingering fear since Dad left for camp. 

“Do you have any family in the area?” I ask, changing the subject a little too quickly.

“Nope. My grandma used to live here, but she moved to Florida. But my mom can do her job from anywhere and there was this house that she always liked as a kid that came up for sale, so she decided the two of us would live here. What’s your family like?”

“It’s me and my parents. My dad is away for the summer though. He runs a theater camp. My mom runs the hospital in Hayden’s Landing, so I’m pretty much on my own every day.”

“That’s really cool. Not that your dad is gone, but being on your own. Do you spend a lot of time with friends?”

“There aren’t any other kids our age who live in Ellis Field. Most of our classmates live out in the country on farms. They don’t come to town all that often because they’re working,” I omit the fact that even if there were other kids our age in Ellis Field, they probably wouldn’t want to hang out with me.

“I guess we’ll have to be friends, then” he says with a smile. In spite of myself, I smile back. It will be nice to have a friend, even if it’s just for the summer and it all changes when we get back to school.

“So… What’s this place?” Henry asks. “I know it’s like an elementary school, but what’s the story here?”

“They’re building a new school, so everything is moving out at the end of the summer. I think my mom said that they plan to keep the building as additional space while they decide what to do with it.”

“You went here?”

“Yes. From Kindergarten to 3rd grade.”

“That must have been so cool. I love old buildings. There was a middle school sort of like this in my old neighborhood, but they closed it and built a new one when I was in fifth grade, so I never got to go there. I mean, I went to a couple school plays there, but I never got to see the whole thing.”

“I can give you a tour if you want.” 

“What are they doing with it after they build the new one?” He seems worried. “They tore down the one in my neighborhood. I hope they don’t do that here.”

“My mom says the school is going to keep the building for storage.” 

Henry looks relieved. “How about that tour?”

We walked down the hallway from the library to where the floor changes from stone to wood with a sloping ramp.

“At the end of third grade, we had a big third grade sleepover here at school.” I tell Henry. “We took our sleeping bags and slid down here.” I point at the slope.

“That sounds like a lot of fun. I think I have a sleeping bag at home somewhere… I’ll bring it after I unpack.” he replies.

“Wait a second.” I open my backpack and pull out an oversized sweatshirt from Camp Ghostlight that I had packed in case the air conditioning was too cold. “The floor is polished, maybe if we sit on this, it will work?”

I motion for him to try it, and he sits on the sweatshirt and slides down the slope, laughing along the way. After he finishes, I take my turn.

“This is just as fun as I remembered!” 

“Let me try something…” He takes a second turn, spinning around as he slides. I am able to do the same as I take my second turn.

“Let’s see who can go the furthest!” I suggest before he starts his third turn. 

“Agreed. Let’s use the lockers to measure.” He slides, getting past the first bank of lockers and halfway through the second, ending with his feet at locker 54.

On my turn, I make it to locker 59.

“Let’s try this again when I find my sleeping bag. I think we can get even further.” He says as we put my sweatshirt back in my bag.

“Check this out,” I tell Henry after I put my sweatshirt back in my bag. I walk quietly up to the door of the teachers’ lounge. “Check to see if Miss Joon is still in the music room.” I whisper to him. He quickly looks in the next room, and shakes his head, indicating that she is gone. Silently, I turn the handle to the teacher’s lounge. The door opens, revealing the crystal chandelier over the long dining table spanning the room. 

“Wow!”

I shush him and close the door, and we return to the front hallway. 

We walk down the hallway, and I point out the different rooms and tell him about them if I can.  When we get to the end of the hallway by the elevator and the front staircase, I look down the stairwell and before I can stop myself, I call out “Mary, are you there?” The stairwell is empty.

“Who’s Mary?” Henry asks.

“There was a lady here yesterday, sitting on the stairs in an old-time dress. She was upset about some missing letters, I think. I went to look for an adult to help her, and when I got back, she was gone. There was no trace of her.” I leave out Mrs. Naves’ dismissal, because I don’t need anyone else thinking I was imagining Mary. Even leaving that part of the story out, I worry that Henry will think I’m making it up. But he listens intently.

“We should find her letters. It’s a mystery,” he states directly when I finish the story.

“But how? She didn’t give me any information about them and I don’t even know if I’ll ever see her again.”  Even though it’s not my fault that Mrs. Naves didn’t believe me and Mary left without saying anything, I feel bad about not being able to help her. “I want to find the letters… It sounds like they’re from someone important...maybe someone who is gone…” I add, overcoming my hesitation to accept that we are going to search for the letters.

“We could ask the librarians. They seem like they would help us. Plus, isn’t the lady librarian like a library doctor? She should be able to help us find anything.”

The fact that Henry has already realized how amazing Dr. Plume and Mr. Zaffre are makes me like him even more. We walk back to the library, but in the time that we’ve been gone, a family with three young children have arrived and are doing the summer reading craft at the library table. I narrowly avoid getting covered with glitter when a bottle of it is knocked from the table as a toddler sings the alphabet. Dr. Plume makes apologetic eye contact with both Henry and I.

“Let’s come back here before my lesson tomorrow,” Henry says.

“I think that’s for the best. Afternoons are more chaotic, but mornings in the summer tend to be calm.”

In the meantime, we decide to go downstairs and check the lost and found table to see if Mary’s letters are there. The lost and found table had an assortment of everything imaginable. In addition to the usual mix of hats and mittens, there was a kickball, a retainer with Jane Ross’s name on the case--she’s always leaving it places, three books, a Monopoly board game, and a leaping toy horse. There were no letters.

I tried not to show my disappointment, but Henry didn’t seem upset. “Letters are personal, right? Maybe they wouldn’t put them in the lost and found. Does the school have an office?”

“It’s right there,” I point across the hall at the principal’s office. The door is shut and the lights are off. Before we can discuss our next steps, we hear the sound of an electrical switch and footsteps echoing from the gymnasium on the other side of the wall behind the lost and found table.

“What’s that?” Henry asks.

“I don’t know. It’s in the gym, let’s check it out.”

As we walk into the gym, we see a giant carousel with horses and lions and tigers. The lights of the carousel are lit. I inhale sharply, trying to hide my excitement. Carousels are my favorite carnival ride, but the last time I rode one, two years ago, some of my classmates saw me and teased me for riding a “baby ride” for the next year. This carousel is the most beautiful one I have ever seen. It’s much bigger than the one at the carnival with animals that appear to be alive.

Beside me, Henry cannot contain his excitement. “This is so cool. Your school has a carousel!”

“It wasn’t here when I went here,” I reply, “I wish it were though.”

Mr. Dijon, the principal of the elementary school, emerges from behind the carousel and smiles when he sees us.

“Hi Sam! Who’s your friend?”

“Henry, sir, I just moved here,” he introduces himself, more formally than I’ve seen him all afternoon. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Henry. What do you kids think? Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Very much, sir.” Henry is glowing as he looks at the carousel.

“Mr. Dijon, why is there a carousel in the gymnasium?” I ask, confused at what I’m seeing.

“It was my grandfather’s hobby to fix them up. He finished at least three that I know of, but this one has been in his barn since he passed away.  We’re selling the farm and had to move it. Since the school is going to be empty, I thought we could keep it here while I figure out what to do with it.”

“Can we ride it? Please….” Henry asks, and I glare at him, not because I don’t want to ride the carousel myself, but because he seems to have forgotten about the letter.

“Not today, I’m afraid. I need to have someone make sure it’s safe. After that, I’ll need your parents’ permission, but maybe we can work something out for another day.”

I try not to show that I am excited about this, but Henry pumps his fist in the air and jumps up and down a little. Mr. Dijon chuckles softly to himself at this. “I’m glad I can make you so happy, son. Grandpa would have wanted to see the carousel used rather than just sitting abandoned like it has over the past few years. It’s a very special carousel.”

He pauses and thinks for a moment. “Is there anything else I can help you kids with?”

“We were actually wondering if there is anything you might have found that you didn’t put in the lost and found table. Like some letters?” I tell him, putting us back on course. “They would be addressed to someone named Mary, I think.”

“Usually, Janene takes care of that sort of thing, but I can open the office and see if she has anything like that behind the front desk.” He walks us to the office and fumbles with his keys for a moment before opening the office door. Like every other room in the school that is not in use for the summer, the office is full of boxes, though there are still some scattered papers on Janene’s reception desk.

“I don’t see any letters here, kids,” he looks around for a little longer. “There is this post-note though.” He holds up a note so we can see it. There, in cursive handwriting are words “Lost letters—Mary Wolf.”

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