Beyond the front desk, rows of tables filled a long room. Dozens of small lamps sat on the tables. A dim glow filled the space. Bookshelves lined the walls. Ladders were propped up in several spots so that anyone could reach the highest books. “Are you kids students?” said the man behind the desk. He wore a jean vest and a gray T-shirt. His pitch-black hair was tied back in a ponytail. His tired eyes were saddled with puffy, slightly wrinkled bags. Cassidy thought he looked more like a member of a biker gang than a librarian; then again, she’d lately seen stranger things than this. Beside his desk stood a glass barrier and a rotary turnstile, like the ones in the city subway stations. “My mom’s a professor here,” said Ping. “We need to use the library.” “Is your mom with you?” he said, sizing them up. He stared especially long at Hal, whose bruises and bloodied eyeball must have set off all kinds of alarms. “She’s in a meeting.” “Well, when she gets out, have her meet you here.
