The note usually directed CeCe to the vice principal’s office, where she questioned CeCe about wearing summer dresses in cold weather, bringing a can of sardines for lunch, her father’s place of work, and how often her mother read to her at night. In second grade, Armstrong Elementary welcomed a new person called a guidance counselor. During that year, CeCe’s summons included this counselor and someone from outside the school, called a caseworker.
CeCe didn’t mind the guidance counselor, Ms. Patterson, because she talked to CeCe about books and old movies and baking.
“I love to make the fancy cakes,” Ms. Patterson said one day, “but the best ones to eat are the simple ones. Pound cake is my favorite.”
CeCe didn’t care as much for the caseworkers. They never had stories for her, only sly questions. CeCe didn’t like how they asked questions, as if trying to be her friend, and then wrote down everything she said. Her other friends didn’t scribble her words into folders. Mr. Curtis. Ms. Patterson. Mrs. Castellanos. They listened to her. Talked to her. Hugged her. Taught her things. These caseworkers weren’t like that at all.
Worse, CeCe had a feeling they didn’t like her, either. She asked Ms. Patterson one day why they came to pick on her, and did they talk to all the students.
“Not all the students,” Ms. Patterson had said. “Just the ones we really care about and want to make extra sure they’re OK.”
CeCe had felt special. She answered their questions.
She hadn’t expected the caseworker interviews to begin so early in the year. The first week of school wasn’t even finished and CeCe was already heading to the front office. She took the hall pass and walked the hallway to Ms. Patterson’s office. CeCe took her seat in the orange plastic chair and waited, humming the chorus of “Silent Night.”
There was no secretary, like in the main office, just a row of chairs outside two closed doors. One door led to Ms. Patterson’s office and the other was used for conferences, detention, and sitting with caseworkers.
The door to Ms. Patterson’s office opened and another student left, clutching a stack of notebooks to her chest. It looked to CeCe like she’d been crying. Ms. Patterson, on the other hand, emerged with a wide-mouthed smile. She was a rectangular woman, with large heavy hands. She didn’t wear much makeup, only color on her lips and mascara on her lashes, but she always wore a suit. She seemed tough at first but, to CeCe, had been soft as summer grass.
“CeCe! How’s it going, sprite?” Ms. Patterson asked. CeCe said things were good and stood to let Ms. Patterson fold her into a one-arm hug. “Listen, I have an idea for you.”
She told CeCe they’d hired a new librarian and the new librarian had requested a student assistant. The assistant, she explained, would help shelve the books, keep the library neat, help the younger grades find things, and help keep the card catalog straight.
“You were the first person we thought of,” Ms. Patterson said. “Whaddya think?”
CeCe was gape-mouthed. Her mind couldn’t hold all of the morsels Ms. Patterson had tossed at her: library, new, assistant, books, chosen. Her head nodded anyway.
“Great,” Ms. Patterson said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s go meet Mrs. Anderson. I think you’ll like her, CeCe. She’s pretty special.”
CeCe stood beneath the mobile with The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Curious George, Goodnight Moon, and Harry the Dirty Dog while Ms. Patterson disappeared behind a narrow door. When she emerged, a tall black woman stood beside her with rolled posters tucked beneath her arm. The first thing CeCe noticed was her smile. The woman had long teeth, longer than most grown-ups’, and one dimple. It was so deep, CeCe wondered if it pressed against the side of her tongue. CeCe like the woman’s smile. It seemed like a real one.
“You must be CeCe,” the woman said, walking to the big desk and dropping the paper tubes. CeCe waved absently, fixated by the woman’s movements.
“I’m Mrs. Anderson. I’m very pleased to meet you.”
CeCe stepped closer to accept Mrs. Anderson’s extended hand. Ms. Patterson excused herself and Mrs. Anderson leaned back against the desk, returning her attention to CeCe.
“So, you like libraries, huh?”
CeCe nodded.
“What kind of stories do you like?”
“Umm, ones with princesses and wishes and magic and stuff,” CeCe said.
Mrs. Anderson smiled. “I like those, too. Maybe I could show you some of my favorites and you could tell me yours?”
CeCe nodded again.
“It’s important for librarians and library assistants to be familiar with the titles in their library,” Mrs. Anderson said. She stood and gestured for CeCe to follow her toward the first shelf of books. CeCe could smell her skin. It wasn’t sweet, like the perfume Ms. Patterson would wear, or strong, the way cigarette smoke lingered around Mr. Curtis. It reminded CeCe of summer nights and fireflies. Maybe that was the special thing Ms. Patterson talked about, that Mrs. Anderson’s skin smelled like twilight.
Mrs. Anderson smiled her perfect smile and laughed. “You’re grinning like you’ve just remembered something special, CeCe. Can I know what it is, too?”
CeCe reached up to touch her own face with her fingertips. She felt her cheeks warm, but couldn’t stop the grinning.
“I figured out your special secret,” CeCe said in a lowered voice.
Mrs. Anderson raised her eyebrows, amused. “You have?”
CeCe nodded. “It’s your skin.”
Mrs. Anderson leaned her head to one side, looking at CeCe for a long moment. “My skin?” she asked.
“Uh-huh. Ms. Patterson said you were ‘something special,’ but I thought you were gonna be regular,” CeCe said, leaning toward her new friend. “Then I smelled your skin. It’s like nighttime in summer. I never met nobody with skin that smells special like that.”
Mrs. Anderson raised her hand to her mouth, unable to contain the giggle that escaped. CeCe could still see her teeth and her dimple. She returned the giggle and smile.
“CeCe, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard in a long time. Thank you,” Mrs. Anderson said.
CeCe beamed.
Mrs. Anderson glanced up at the wall clock. “You should probably head back to class now,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Your position as the new librarian’s assistant can start during tomorrow’s recess. OK?”
“OK!” CeCe said, shaking Mrs. Anderson’s hand again.
The next day, CeCe went to the library and Mrs. Anderson read to her The Snowy Day.
“What’d you think?” Mrs. Anderson asked.
“I like that story,” CeCe said, flipping through the pages again.
“I thought about what you said when I got home last night,” Mrs. Anderson said. CeCe looked up, unsure. “About being special?”
CeCe remembered, and nodded.
“We’re both special, did you know that?”
CeCe nodded.
Mrs. Anderson smiled. “Of course you did,” she said. “Well, we special people have to look out for each other, because there are a lot of unspecial people who just won’t understand us sometimes. It might make us sad. If that happens to one of us, we have to promise to come get a hug from the other one, OK?”
CeCe nodded and Mrs. Anderson