At the bottom of the staircase up to Reference and Research, River’s father has an expression on his face which I do not know what it means. It is not sad or mad or worried or embarrassed. It is also not happy or excited or surprised. If you do not know the answer to what a facial expression on a facial-expression card means, Mrs. Radcliffe says to first decide is it a happy expression or an unhappy expression, but I look at River’s father’s face and cannot tell. What River’s father looks to me is smooth, but smooth is not an emotion. His face is smooth and smiley, and that smile is smooth and white, and his hair is smooth and shiny and puffy, and his clothes are smooth and neat. He reaches a hand right at me while he is also walking right at me, and that hand is also smooth, but it also wants to touch me, so when he says, “Nathan Templeton. Very pleased to meet you,” I hide behind Mab who does not mind when smooth hands or any hands touch her.
Mab shakes the smooth hand, but she does not say anything, I think because you are supposed to say you are pleased to meet him too and she is not.
Then he says, “Welcome to our home,” very big and loud and smooth.
So I say, “Ha!”
So Mab says, “Monday,” in a tone which means warning.
“River’s father is making a joke,” I inform Mab, “because this is not his home.”
“Please, please”—River’s father holds his arms out and I panic that he is going to hug me, but he just stands there like that—“call me Nathan.”
“Nathan!” I call.
“A teenager who takes direction.” River’s father laughs. “You’re a wonder…”
He trails off, so Mab says, “Monday.”
“Monday? Oh! I didn’t realize when you said just now … well, uh, delightful! What a great name. Let me guess, Monday. Your parents are artist types.”
“Wrong,” I say because he is, and I am about to explain, but Mab says, “Monday,” again in her warning voice.
“Best two out of three,” says River’s father, which is when I realize he plays Truth or Dare and a Lie as well. “You grew up in this library.”
“Lie,” I say. “No one grows up in a library.”
“Not so!” He claps his hands and lowers his voice but not his smile, like he is going to tell me a secret and he is very happy about it. “Some of my best friends grew up in libraries. But I can see that you like things literal. I like that too. What I meant was I bet you spent many happy hours here as a child reading beloved titles.”
“Truth,” I admit. “The insides too.”
He laughs like I have made a joke. “Right you are, Monday. I can tell all those hours reading have paid off. Nothing gets by you. You’re sharp as a tack.”
“Lie.” I am neither sharp nor a tack. He has three lies and a truth so far, which is not how you play the game, but he is laughing and happy anyway.
“River here has been worried about being the new kid. You know, making friends, fitting in. I’m pleased to see he has such fine, smart classmates.”
I look at River’s classmate, who is Mab, but River’s father is still grinning at me. Mab coughs a cough that does not sound like her usual cough.
“Well, see ya,” she says to I do not know who, but it is probably not me. She turns around like she will walk out the door.
“No, you can’t go yet,” says River’s father. “You know who bought muffins fresh this morning?”
I do not know, but I am preparing three guesses when a woman appears hurrying down the staircase. She is wearing clothes to exercise in and has white and gray smears I can assume are dust all over them and her arms and face and hair.
“Here she is!” River’s father’s voice sounds surprised. Maybe he did not know just like I did not know that this woman was in the library. “How was the attic?”
She shakes her head at him, but I do not know why because “How was the attic?” is not a yes-or-no question.
“Find anything?” He makes his voice lower as if he hopes we will not hear him even though she is still on the stairs whereas we are standing right next to him.
She shakes her head again, and even though I do not know what she was looking for, at least that is a question to which “No” can be an answer.
“You,” I say.
“Huh?” says River’s father.
“I am guessing who bought muffins fresh this morning.”
“Ahh.” River’s father’s face does a big smile. “Nope, not me. Even better.” He points to the dusty woman. “It was this lady here, my wife, River’s mom, the lovely Apple Templeton.”
Except for the dust, River’s mother looks like a woman on television, not a television mother with aprons and cookies, but a television woman with shiny lips, curly eyelashes, and long hair that does not move when she moves. Whereas River’s father looks smooth, River’s mother looks pointy. River’s father smiles at her. She does not smile back.
“Let me tell you”—River’s father is still talking—“she has great taste in baked goods. We’d love to get to know you both, hear a little bit more about Bourne Memorial High. What are the hot clubs to join? Who’s the cool teacher? Where do the popular kids eat lunch? We want the inside scoop.” He turns to Mab. “We haven’t even been introduced.”
River points his wand at my sister like he will turn her into a toad. “This is Mab, Dad. She and Monday are sisters.”
“Mab! What an unusual name. Are you sure your parents aren’t artists?”
“It’s Shakespeare.” This is a truth, and it is the first thing River’s mother has said, but she says it very quietly. She looks surprised, and he looks at her, and then he looks surprised.
But then he claps his hands together and turns back to us. “Mab and Monday! Wonderful! Delighted to meet you. So glad you’re here. Come on in.”
He turns and waves to us over his shoulder which means “Follow me,” and River’s mother does and River does, and Mab and I do not know what to do so we do too, and he walks past where the checkout and return counters and the library card desk should be, but they are gone. And he walks into the Children’s section, and my eyes see what is there, and they cannot believe it because in the Children’s section, a kitchen has bloomed. It has a white-and-navy floor made out of shiny diamond tiles. It has a giant refrigerator with a screen right in the door. It has a range with six burners, two dishwashers, two sinks, two ovens, cabinets so blended right in you can almost not even see them, and countertops covered in appliances that look like no one ever used them before which might be because no one knows what they are because they are not obvious things like a toaster but non-obvious things with chutes and dials I cannot identify.
The Children’s reference desk is still there like when you see a documentary about the Roman Colosseum but there are people with cellular telephones all around it. It has become shiny on top and grown a rack on the side for also shiny knives and hooks with dish towels. There are tall stools along the back like a saloon in a movie. My eyes see the Children’s section they met before they can even remember, and they also see River’s not-even-cooked-in-yet kitchen which looks like a kitchen in a magazine, and they cannot believe it even though they should not be so surprised because Chris Wohl said he saw kitchen delivery trucks, and my eyes can assume this kitchen is what they were delivering.