The Magic of Stories | ONC 2024 shortlist

8 - Charlotte and the alien

After lunch and an excellent coffee, I hastened back to the library at a run, afraid I'd be late. But the door was still closed, and I had to wait a few minutes for Conny to arrive and unlock it.

"Hey Lynn, all well?"

"Thanks, yes, I think I'm getting the hang of it."

She stowed her key and hung up her coat. "Glad to hear—l thought of you this morning. I bet Marjorie was overwhelming with her instructions."

That was the understatement of the day, but the hour with Becca had helped me to gather my wits and renew my resolution to make this work. "I believe she is worried we will run into trouble of one or the other kind while she is away, so I tried to reassure her. But I guess I failed, and it will be up to you to convince her we're not a helpless bunch."

Her warm laughter reminded me of her daughter's. "I'll give my best. Thanks for the warning. It's children's afternoon, though, I guess Marjorie will be busy. She enjoys working with the little ones."

I had already gathered, but we had to stop our discussion when the librarian came in. Before she retreated with Conny to the office, she turned to me. "Lynn, would you mind preparing the sitting area for the reading? We place the cubes in a semicircle facing the sofa. You will find drawing utensils in the drawer there and paper in the office next to the printer. Please distribute them on the tables."

I followed her instructions, rearranged the cubes, and placed coloured pencils and loose sheets of paper in different pastel shades on the low tables. When she returned, Marjorie nodded her approval and asked me to help rearrange the children's drawings on the white board next to the sofa to make room for new ones.

"I like to let our young guests draw something from the story and pin up the pictures afterwards, if they don't want to take them home. It gives the place a personal touch, and I always find it fascinating what kids see as the heart of a story." She placed the pictures she had removed in a folder, closed it, and handed me a book. "Today, it's your turn to read to the little dears, so you can get used to it."

"Are you sure?" Taken by surprise, I tried to talk her out of it. "I have never read to more than a couple of children, and they come here to listen to your reading, not mine."

"No, it's fine. You have to learn, and they won't mind. Today, I'll be here to support you if needed while next week, you must survive without the luxury of a backup."

Despite my hope of having another opportunity to witness her working the magic, she was right, and I caved in. "What if I stumble over my own words?"

"Reading to an audience is not witchcraft, Lynn." What an interesting choice of words. She didn't seem to notice my surprise, though, and continued her instructions. "Just remember to read slow. This is the essential part, since you have to finish the chapter, but you don't need to do it in a rush. If you need to pause—to turn the page or to catch a breath—take your time. These are children. They won't judge you for a few irregularities."

In my experience, kids could be quite judgemental, but there was no use in pointing it out and making myself more nervous. I checked the book I held and couldn't help but smile. Charlotte's Web was another beloved classic.

In the meantime, more and more children had come in until close to two dozen had assembled without too much of ruckus. A few of the younger were accompanied by older siblings or a parent, but they either kept to the back or wandered off to browse the library.

Marjorie introduced me and recapitulated the story to her young audience up to where they had left a week ago. Then it was my turn to begin at the point she had marked with a pink sticky note. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, cleared my throat, and plunged into the cold water.