We walked past the towering rows of bookcases in the adult area and through the hall that led to the kids’ department. I didn’t expect we’d stay very long. Benedict has a hard time sitting still. So do I, but he makes me look calm. Even so, I thought we’d stay for more than five minutes.

I was wrong.

When we got to the kids’ area, I grabbed a couple of baseball books from the shelves in the sports section. I knew right where they were because I always checked to see if they’d gotten any new ones in. I love 796.357. That was their Dewey decimal number. I opened the first book and started to flip through it when, WHACK, Benedict ran past, smacked me on the back, and yelled, “Tag! You’re it.”

He dashed down the hall. I had no choice. It’s impossible to sit still once you’re tagged. Totally impossible. It’s like if someone sings, “Row, row, row your—” and then stops, you just have to finish it by singing, “boat.” I chased him. He didn’t head back to the adult section. Instead, he made a sharp left and raced down the stairs to the basement.

I followed. A sign near the steps said: REFERENCE SECTION. By the time I reached the bottom, Benedict had vanished among the shelves. But I could hear his footsteps. I rushed after him. “I’ll get you!” I shouted.

I reached the end of the aisle. From the echo of his footsteps, it sounded like he’d turned right. I swung that way and caught a glimpse of him as I hurried to the end of the next aisle.

“Slowpoke!” he called.

“Oh yeah?” I put my head down and pumped my legs hard,running full force.Benedict might be fast, but I knew I could catch him.

I didn’t even see the old guy until I crashed into him.

CHAPTER TWO

Running into Trouble

“Ooofff,” I said as I bounced back from the collision.A quick glance at the man showed me I hadn’t done any damage. He barely even looked surprised. “Sorry,” I said as I started to run around him.

He put out a hand and stopped me. “This is a library,” he said, staring at me through the bottom part of those glasses that have a line right across the middle of each lens. “Not a playground.”

“No kidding.” I hate it when people tell me obvious stuff. I wondered if he worked in the library. I’d never seen him before, but I didn’t pay much attention to the people outside the kids’ area. He was an old guy, dressed kind of like a teacher, with a jacket but no tie. He had a book in his other hand—the hand that wasn’t keeping me from chasing Benedict.

“Hey, I said I was sorry,” I told him.