The “V” held up the other letters, like one of the spokes in a spider’s web. It looked delicate and ethereal, but in reality, it held all the power. I liked Evelyn right from the start. I think she liked me too because I was quiet and didn’t distract her from her organizational duties.

Mrs. Ficsh spent the morning teaching us about maps and globes. She asked us to draw a map of our homes. Evelyn’s box of colored pencils came in handy and, without thinking, I drew out the rooms of Leah’s house. I followed Evelyn to lunch and sat beside her at a table near the window.

“Did you just move here?” she asked, taking a bite into a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the edges of which were perfectly sliced off.

Nodding, I played with the wax paper Leah had used to wrap my sandwich.

“Do you like to read? Because after we finish eating we can go to the library. Most of the other kids go outside for recess but the librarian lets me sit and read for the whole time. Do you want to come?”

I nodded again.

Evelyn didn’t seem to mind that she was the one doing all the talking. We finished eating and walked past a table of giggling girls on our way to the library, but Evelyn kept walking, her eyes set on the exit. When we got to the library, the woman behind the desk smiled. Evelyn walked over to a bookshelf near the corner and I watched as she bent down to the lowest shelf and counted till she reached the twelfth book from the left. She opened it to the middle, began to read, and instantly I could tell that she had forgotten I was even standing there.

For the first time that day I felt alone. I wandered along the perimeter of the library, admiring the display of books like they were puppies in a pet store. Their clear wrap reflected the fluorescent lights in the ceiling and reminded me of stars. I walked around the room twice before making my choice and then I sat on the floor crosslegged and leaned my back against the shelves. I opened Mary Poppins, enjoying the satisfying creak the binding made, and took a whiff of the pages. They smelled a little like every person who had held it before me. I was completely lost in the world of the Banks children and what it must have felt like to wait for Mr. Banks to come home at the end of the day when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was the librarian, motioning that the bell was ringing and that it was time to go. Without a second thought, my fingers glided over the bindings on the bottom shelf until my book found its home—bottom shelf, twelfth from the left.

Matilda