© Copyright Cupideros, Friday, August 14, 2016
BOOK 3, CHAPTER 1-3
THE QUESTIONING BOOK StoryTime by Cupideros
BOOK THREE: JULIE’S REFLECTION PANE MIRROR
History School
PART ONE: THE GIRL WHO HATED STORIES
CHAPTER ONE: THE GIRL WHO HATED STORIES
Julie Chen did not believe in fiction.
Fiction was lies. Beautiful lies, occasionally. Well-written lies, occasionally. Lies that won awards and got turned into movies and made people cry at the endings. But lies nonetheless. Then people went on with their lives and forgot about those lies.
History, on the other hand, was true. People had to live with their changed historical world. History was fact.
Not only were there history facts, but those history facts also had dates. Facts. Primary sources. Footnotes. Citations. You could verify history. You could visit the places where things happened. You could touch the ground where soldiers marched and stand in the rooms where treaties were signed. You could look at photographs and letters and diaries and know, with certainty, that these things had occurred.
You could not touch a dragon.
You could not visit Narnia.
You could not fact-check a metaphor.
So Julie read history. Only history. Biographies of forgotten queens. Accounts of ancient battles. Detailed records of the Roman Empire’s plumbing systems—fascinating, actually, their aqueducts were engineering marvels, and she had written a three-page report on them for extra credit.
When her teacher assigned a novel, Julie read the first chapter, skimmed the middle, reading the last three pages, and wrote her essay on theme without ever feeling the story.
When her mom suggested a “fun” book—something with magic or dragonasaurus eggs or talking animals—Julie said, “History is fun.”
When her dad asked why she never read fiction, Julie said, “Because I like things that are true.”
Her dad had laughed. Not a mean laugh. A sad laugh. The kind of laugh that said, “You’re too young to be this hard. You know, stories can be true, too. Just not in the same way.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Dad.”
“It will someday.”
Julie doubted that.
She was nine years old, in middle school, where children got mercilessly bullied by other cruel children, and teachers wrung their hands helplessly, unable to permanently stop it.
History was real, and life was real and she was already exhausted by how many people wanted her to pretend.
CHAPTER TWO: THE PENCIL
Jake had worn all black today. Black T-shirt, black belt, black jeans, and black sneakers because the mean kids were scared of all black. Somber. Logic. No-nonsense. All things Jake wanted to display so he would not have to say it or defend himself. His theory was working out not a mean kid around. He found Julie Chen in the school library, near the Britannica History Encyclopedias.
She was sitting at a table in the back corner, surrounded by books about World War II. The D-Day book was open to page forty-seven. The book about Anne Frank was on top of the stack. The book about the Holocaust was face down, open to a photograph of soldiers liberating a prison camp.
Julie had lovely butter-yellow skin, black-slanted eyes, not much for eyelids, and slick black mid-shoulder-length hair tied back with a red bow. Her skirt was a checkered black-and-blue school-regulation knee-length skirt. Her black Mary Janes always had a “just store-bought” shine to them. Julie was reading all of the books at once. Her slanted eyes darted back and forth like a hummingbird eating flower nectar. From book to book, her black slanted eyes read words, scanned photos, checked facts, and compared dates, looking for inconsistencies. Everything, including the lampshades, checked out.
“You think stories are lies,” Jake finally said, taking a seat in the chair across from Julie.
Julie looked up. Her black eyes were tired. Dark circles underneath. Like she hadn’t slept well.
“All stories are lies,” she said. “That’s why they call it fiction.”
“Reading novels is not all fiction.”
Julie tilted her head. “Then what is it?”
Jake pulled something from his pocket. A yellow pencil. Worn down. The wood was smooth from being held. The eraser was almost gone. Carved into the side were symbols. A lightning bolt. A small frame.
“This pencil is connected to the library,” he said.
Julie Chen replied, “So. Pencils are in every library I’ve ever visited.”
“The library between the old pet store and the laundromat. It wasn’t there before—I know. But it’s there now.”
Julie closed the D-Day book and sighed. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you, the fact-checker, to find out for yourself.”
Jake slid the worn-down, warm #2 pencil across the table.
Julie looked at it. The lightning bolt. The frame. The worn-down eraser.
“What is this?”
“An invitation.”
“From who?”
“The Questioning Book says you have a reading appointment next.”
Julie laughed. It was not a happy laugh. It was the laugh of someone who had heard one too many lies. The laugh of someone who had learned early that words could be twisted—twisted to say things they never intended.
“That’s another lie. A story you made up.”
Jake stayed detached. “I expect you to find out for yourself.”
“The Questioning Book says you have a reading appointment next,” Jake added.
Julie laughed. “That’s another lie. A story you made up.”
“Some day, I’m going to be a rich, famous lawyer, so here’s my pitch. I’m not telling you to believe in Santa Claus climbing down houses or apartments without a chimney stack. I’m not even telling you to believe in the Easter Bunny with big white ears. And I certainly wouldn’t dare tell a girl to go into an ancient, creepy library. But if you want to discover THE TRUTH THAT DEPENDS ON THE TRUTH…”
Julie laughed and tossed her head back in relief at Jake’s humorous persuasion. Her glass-shine straight black hair fell across the front of her shoulders. “You might become a lawyer after all, Jake.” She looked at the worn-down #2 yellow pencil.
The lightning bolt. The frame. The worn wood. The history of it stared Julie Chen in the face. The power of that worn-down #2 yellow pencil—she could not deny it.
“Look, Julie. I know you’re Chinese, and a picture is still worth a thousand words. You believe in the photos in the history books. Well, that #2 yellow pencil is a three-dimensional picture invitation. So, I wouldn’t dare tell a girl to go into an ancient, creepy library unless I was certain—” Jake pushed his chair back and stood up.
“Certain of what?” Julie hated how he was succeeding in manipulating her by not finishing his sentence.
“You wanted to discover THE TRUTH THAT DEPENDS ON THE TRUTH…”
Julie stared at him. Her black-slanted eyes narrowed some more.
She hated when people did that. Left sentences unfinished. Made her curious against her will. And Jake did it twice now. She had read about it in a book about the history of propaganda.
But it worked.
“All right, already, Jake,” she said, standing up. She grabbed the worn-down #2 yellow pencil. The wood was warm. “I’ll expose all the lies of your story. I love history. And history is true.”
She put away all the books and packed her cherry-red school book bag with its thousand pockets, mostly for girl stuff. Jake noticed but did not want to ask what was in them. And it didn’t matter anyway. He’d succeeded in convincing Julie Chen.
Julie walked out of the middle school library as Jake watched.
She didn’t look back.
CHAPTER THREE: THE LIBRARY THAT REMEMBERED
The ancient mysterious library appeared exactly where Jake said it would.
Between the old pet store (the mannequin now wearing a complete outfit: sunglasses, scarf, hat, mittens, and someone had added a small sign that said “FREE HUGS”) and the laundromat (still smelling like soap, always smelling like soap, Julie wondered if the smell ever left), there was a building.
Tall and narrow. Gray stone. Stained-glass windows in deep red and midnight blue. The glass seemed to glow from within, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. Children skipped classes all the time, Julie reasoned. But this was a dare, a dare on history and facts—important enough that it had to be debunked. She’d deprogram Jake and the other children when she got back. School can wait!
Julie had walked past this spot every day for three years.
She had never seen a building here. Jake made his first case stick solid. A real building existed with a lion’s head handle.
She pulled out her phone to take a picture. No, she didn’t have a phone. She was nine. Her dad didn’t allow her to have her phone while in school. But she had a mental map of the neighborhood, and this building was not on it.
But there it was!
Waiting!
Julie Chen walked to the door. Oak. Iron bands. A lion’s head handle. The lion’s eyes gleamed—almost alive.
She did not hesitate.
She pushed the door open and walked inside.
