The librarian's conniption

It's Flash Fiction February! I'm writing some pieces to share as part of a couple of challenges, including Live/Write Balance and Writer's Digest. Today's story is from the Live/Write Balance one-word prompt: conniption.

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“Where did all the dragons come from?”

Brenna stands in the middle of the library children’s room, a stack of middle-grade new releases balanced on her arm. It’s ten minutes until Story Hour. The room is filling up with young moms, nannies, and grandparents, corralling wriggling youngsters. Heads turn at Brenna’s rising voice. 

“I simply cannot abide another dragon!”  

Wearing expressions of concern, adults steer their children away.  

In the chair beside me Danny rolls his eyes. Just an hour ago we had to usher a man out of Periodicals for staging a war of words with his mother, who wasn’t actually there. 

“Mercury’s in the twelfth house,” he mumbles. “So everyone’s gonna be out of control today.” 

I cross the room to where Brenna’s standing. “What’s going on?” 

She scowls. “Ten new releases for chapter-book readers, ages eight to fourteen, and four of them are about dragons.”

I reach out to take the books, but she writhes away from me. 

“Brenna, I need you to keep your voice down.” She’s the most stereotypical-looking librarian here, multiplying the oddness of her outburst. Feathered silver-blond hair, wireframed glasses, a navy, collared knit cardigan she probably ordered from a catalog. Danny calls her the boomerarian behind her back. 

She’s worked in this profession since youth literature was characterized by gold-metallic Newberry Award insignias and manipulative stories about children dying tragic deaths. I, by contrast, have only been out of library school for a couple of years. Dragons are the norm for me. 

Since the director promoted me to children’s room manager a few months ago, Brenna started reporting to me. An insult, as she must think of me as merely another child. Since I started working here, I’ve held Brenna at arm’s length. Her false smile and sugary voice set off a mistrust that I’ve learned to listen to in my twenty-eight years. Now, I have no choice but to deal with her, and she’s less inclined these days to coat over her discontent. 

“These authors can’t write about anything else? If it’s not dragons, it’s vampires. At least vampires I can empathize with. They’re insatiable. Who knows anything about a dragon’s motivation?”  

“I need you to pull it together,” I say, laying a hand on her arm. “Pete called in sick, so I’m covering the reference desk. You need to read to the kids at Story Hour.”

She opens her arms and lets the pile of vivid, newly Mylared books crash to the ground. The whole room freezes. 

I think quickly, flipping through the bullet points from my manager training course. Being the department supervisor means always doing more with less. Finding creative solutions to problems. Motivating staff to do their best work. 

Laughing loudly, I bend over to pick up the books. Their fresh perfection has survived the fall. 

“Okay everybody,” I shout to the room cheerfully, hoping I’m not going to regret this decision. “Miss Brenna has teed up the theme of today’s book for us. Now take a seat so she can read you The Very Angry Unicorn.”