Mirabel makes a motion with her hand that means Like what?
“Like what if we found his dissertation?”
A dissertation is less than a book but more than homework, so it is not something you can buy online and have shipped to your house, and it is not something that will be on the shelf in any library you visit, not even any library you visit except one that is just leftovers in someone’s home. But Mirabel says it is something that might be on the shelf in one library, and that is the library of the college where it was written, like how not everyone’s picture frames hold a photograph of you but your mother’s picture frames probably do.
“We cannot visit Nathan’s college library because it is too far away,” I object.
Mirabel types. “Interlibrary loan.”
“We don’t have a library on this end,” Mab says.
“Lie!” I shout.
And that is how I find myself on the telephone dialing the library at Nathan’s college.
“Library,” says the person who answers, which I like because it is simple and direct. No one ever calls me, but if they did, that is how I would like to answer.
“Good evening,” I say politely. “I am calling to ask one librarian to another if you will send me a copy of Nathan Templeton’s dissertation via interlibrary loan.”
“I’m sorry,” says the other librarian, but she does not sound sorry. She sounds confused. “Who is this?”
“This is Monday Mitchell,” I say. “A librarian.”
“You sound very young, Monday.”
“I am sixteen.”
“I see,” the other librarian says. “And what’s the name of your library?”
“My library does not have a name.”
“Why doesn’t your library have a name?”
“It is in my house.”
“Ah,” says the librarian. “I think I see your problem. A library is not a house.”
“That is not my problem,” I correct.
“Who is Nathan Templeton?” she asks.
“He was a student of yours, and he did homework we know about but cannot discuss without reading.”
“I see.” The other librarian laughs, but I do not know why because I have not made a joke, but I do hear typing. “Well Monday Mitchell, Librarian, I’m not finding any record of a dissertation or any other publication by a Nathan Templeton, and I’m afraid we don’t keep student homework, nor are we able to send materials via interlibrary loan to someone’s house.”
“Even if their house is a library?” I ask.
“Even if. However, I like your style.”
I look down. I am wearing a yellow cardigan over a yellow T-shirt over mustard-colored pants and socks. “You cannot see my style.”
“I like your spirit, I mean,” she says. “Being a sixteen-year-old librarian is impressive.”
“Thank you,” I say, both because it is polite and because her words make me feel grateful.
“Keep reading, Monday, and keep librarying.”
“‘Librarying’ is not a word,” I say.
“Doesn’t mean you can’t do it, though, does it?” the other librarian asks, and it is surprising but that is an accurate thing to say.
After we hang up, Mab says, “Google?”
And I say, “It is an exaggeration to say we have googled Duke Templeton and Nathan Templeton and GL606 and Belsum Chemical a million times, but it is only a slight exaggeration.”
Mirabel types. “Gala 606,” her Voice says because we have never known the full name of GL606 before or even that GL606 was an abbreviation. I do not like abbreviations.
But when we google Gala 606, the only thing we find is pictures of people at fancy parties and pictures of apples.
“Is it not strange”—I am scrolling through all the pictures on the screen—“that Apple’s name is Apple, and when we search for Gala 606, we find pictures of apples? That is a good coincidence.”
“No,” says Mirabel’s Voice.
Mab rolls her eyes, which is usually at me but which right now is at Mirabel who is answering in one word only instead of explaining what she actually means.
So Mirabel adds, “It’s a pun.”
“What is a pun, Three?”
Longer typing. “He named the chemical after her and the night he kissed her.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Love,” her Voice says, which does not answer the question.
Mab agrees because she says, “What kind of loser thinks the way to a girl’s heart is puns?”