![]() ![]() YA was no longer in the kids area! In fact, it was on the opposite side of the library. And that summer I was finally allowed to venture to the YA section. A safe, quiet place where I could perch my gargoyle body in a bean bag chair and devour as maaaany books as I could finish in an afternoon without worrying about anybody trying to figure me out. So those Sunday library expeditions were always something to look forward to. ![]() I mean, I barely understood what I was hiding myself, but I knew I was afraid of it. ![]() Hoping no one would look at me too long and see my big secret. I tried to make myself smaller, to take up as little space as I could. I was always hunched over, like some teenage version of Quasimodo. T he summer before high school, I was filled with an odd sense of anxiety. I was all about the bartering system, and though I got stuck doing the worst chores it was totally worth it. But one of my sisters haaaaaaated reading and I would often bribe her with doing her chores if she would check out a book for me. We were each allowed one book, which, as I got older and moved on from the Hank the Cowdog series, was never enough. So please don't tell my mom.Įvery Sunday for as long as I can remember, no matter what new city we lived in, my mother would take me and my younger sisters to the library. It was often the only consistent thing about our childhood. And I don't want anyone to report me and get me banned forever. I borrowed it without going through the proper check out procedures. I mean, I did return it eventually so maybe "stole" isn't the right word. When I was 13 I stole a book from the local library. ![]()
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