Prologue, Part I: The Library

Thick, grey clouds rolled in the sky overhead as the girl walked quickly up the deserted street, zipping up her sweatshirt against the fall chill. She hoped she’d make it to the library before it started raining again; she didn’t particularly enjoy this sort of weather, and though she usually liked walking in the rain, today she had no desire whatsoever to get wet. She walked on the still-damp pavement, watching the runoff from the street scampering animatedly through the gutter towards the sudden gaping hole of the storm drain. A breeze started up, sluggishly pushing the dead leaves along the road and sidewalk; the girl looked down as one collided with her shoe with a soggy smack.

She paused, bending down and removing the troublesome leaf from the smudged rubber toe of her favorite pair of navy blue high tops. Instead of tossing it into the gutter beside her, however, she held it up in front of her face, examining it.

It was rather small. And red. It expanded upward and outward from the thin stem, splaying out into a three pronged fork that dripped moisture, the miniscule veins running through the brilliantly scarlet world smudged here and there with dirt from its journey through the streets. She looked around. I wonder which tree this came from, she thought.

She shrugged, dropping the leaf into the gutter, watching as it landed on the rushing water and became swept away by the current, onto bigger and better things.

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It took her a few more minutes to reach the library. She shivered as the glass doors swung open to receive her, a blast of cold air hitting her full in the face. She strode past the front desk and towards the computerized card catalogs, glancing quickly over her shoulder at the librarians as if to confirm that the rumors at school saying that they were actually reptilian creatures from another planet were false.

She sat down at one of the computer consuls, wiggling the mouse to wake up the monitor. A window popped up on the screen, asking for her name, address, and library card number. Sighing, she unzipped the front pocket of her over-stuffed backpack and pulled out her wallet. Locating her library card, she faced the screen once more.

She typed Sydney Larson in the space for a name. She disliked her name; she thought it too plain, too common. Plus, her mother had decided on her name after taking a trip to Australia and seeing the Sydney Opera House for the first time in person. She decided that it wasn’t particularly flattering to be named after a strange-looking building half-way across the globe.

Address? 2538 Darkley Lane. Though she and her mother were relatively new to the neighborhood, Sydney had made a point of memorizing their new address. She wasn’t sure why; perhaps she’d done it to have a greater sense of security as she’d walked into school on the first day for the first time in her life. Yes, I’m new, but not so new as to be totally clueless about what my address is, look. For her, that knowledge was reassuring.

She quickly typed in the library card number in the last space and clicked OK. The window disappeared, only to be replaced on the screen by the card catalog software.

Sydney began searching for a book.

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The one she was looking for was located towards the back of the library, in the history section. Her eyes skimmed the shelves, occasionally looking down at the small piece of paper in her hand on which she’d written the title and the call number. Oh, there it is. She pulled the book down from the shelf, looking at the cover.

Yes, this was the one: The American Dream: A Student’s Guide to American History and Government. Her spirits sank considerably when she flipped through the musty-smelling pages; though the thickness of the book failed to intimidate her, the small print had a distinctly different effect.

Sydney tucked the book under her arm and shouldered her backpack—she had found what she needed. On impulse, she decided to weave her way through the shelves on her journey to the front desk.

She looked at the thousands of books as she passed, some calling out to her with striking colors and loud titles on their spines, others remaining dry and silent. She walked past poetry, cooking, philosophy, world culture, and many other genres, finally reaching the half-way point of her sojourn through space and time: the fiction section.

She walked down the first row of shelves, suddenly remembering that she needed to bring something to read during her English class the next day. Nothing particularly interesting here—wait, what was that one, over there?

The only reason it had caught her attention at all was because of the conspicuous lack of a title on the spine. The book was on the bottom shelf. She picked it up.

It was both heavier and thicker than the one about American history. The front cover was bare except for the words Instant Adventure! in large letters across the top.

Intrigued, she flipped the book over to get a peek at the back cover; she was hoping for some sort of summary at the very least, possibly even a review or two.

It was blank.

Shrugging, she decided to check it out anyway. Besides, she reasoned, I can always return it if I don’t like it.

She stacked her two books, one on top of the other, and walked to the front desk, completely unaware of the fact that the back cover of the second was not really blank, that in the lower right corner printed in small letters was the phrase (just add water).