A Summer of Sundays Read Online Free Page A

and pushed him a little. “Stop it, CJ. I mean it.”
    He pushed me back.
    The library stairs lit up with an orange haze, and the door clicked open. “All right, come on in. It’s pretty dark, but you’ll be able to see well enough.”
    The three of us rushed up the steps and inside.
    Dad was right. Only two bulbs were working. They lit the round circulation desk and a set of stairs that went down to a door with an EMPLOYEES ONLY sign.
    Bo rushed to Dad’s side, and though I knew CJ got scared sometimes—he’s still never seen the entire movie of
The Wizard of Oz
—he immediately began to explore the darkness.
    I stood under the single light at the circulation desk and ran my hand along the scratched surface. Bending down I looked in the RETURN slot and found three books.
    Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
and two others I hadn’t heard of.
    Harry Potter
was one of my favorites. I still remembered the first time I opened the copy I’d received for Christmas. It had rained that day, and the hot chocolate that sat steaming on the nightstand gradually cooled as I sank into Harry’s world.
    I set the books down on the desk and looked at the picture that hung on the wall behind. It was of a woman who looked older than Mom and Dad but not quite as old as Grandma and Grandpa. I squinted at the small golden plaque on the base of the frame.
    ALMA, PENNSYLVANIA , I read, and then walked behind the desk so that I could see the words better. HOMETOWN OF THE NATIONAL BOOK PRIZE–WINNING AUTHOR LEE WREN.
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF BIRDS
, NATIONAL BOOK PRIZE 1969 . Then it gave the dates of her birth and death.
    Wow. The librarian back in Pittsburgh told me theNational Book Prize was one of the biggest awards you could get as a writer.
    A famous author had lived here?
    Maybe when I left Alma at the end of the summer, people would say, “Sunday Fowler lived here.”
    “CJ … I mean, Sunday?” Dad asked. He climbed on top of a stool, reaching for one of the burned-out bulbs.
    I walked out from behind the desk. “Yeah?”
    “Could you do me a favor?”
    “Uh, sure.”
    He handed me the flashlight tucked in his pocket. “Go down into the basement and see how many bulbs I need down there. I brought a few with me but I don’t think I have enough.”
    I glanced down the dark steps, the EMPLOYEES ONLY sign lit up by the new bulb Dad had just replaced.
    “Thanks,” he said, not waiting for my answer.
    I took the flashlight, walked down the stairs that were thankfully illuminated, and then pushed the doors open. My single light bobbed in the blackness, and I scanned the walls until I found a switch. None of the lights were working. I stepped farther inside, first counting the lights above and then scanning the rest of the room. Four bulbs.
    There were two desks sitting in the middle of the room, and a big contraption against the far wall that looked like some sort of heater or air conditioner with silver pipessnaking up the walls and across the ceiling. Spiderwebs hung in the empty corners while wisps of an abandoned web caught the beam of my flashlight. A metal bookcase was against the other wall, filled from top to bottom with boxes. I stepped over to inspect them. More books, gritty with dust.
    Shining my flashlight over each shelf, I found that all the boxes looked the same. But when the beam reached the top shelf, something glinted. Shifting the light back over, I saw it again.
    There was an old step stool sitting beside the bookcase. I dragged it over and climbed up. Standing on my tiptoes to reach, I pushed aside the nearest box to see better. It was some sort of a heavy file cabinet or safe. It had a latch with a tiny silver lock like on a suitcase.
    Maybe it wasn’t locked.
    I stretched up even more, but my fingertips were only able to brush against the smooth surface.
    “Come on,” I whispered, reaching, stretching.
    Then there was a flash of light behind me and a roaring “BOO!”
    I screeched and toppled off