I slid down from my bed to see light slipping off of my bedroom. My ears could hear the familiar sound of my dad cooking and my mom's finger tapping on the keyboard. Suddenly, my alarm clock raced in front of me, ringing hard as if it was going to jump. The pointer finger of my hand jammed the off button and angriness rushed over me, thinking about what to do with my stupid clock. 
The library, I thought. If only I could chill a bit there. But I couldn't control the phrases swarming in my head during my alarm clock, and getting off the back with great effort to control my thoughts. I kept reminding myself about the calm, peaceful palace—the library. In a few days, lots of people would come, not to stay though. That made me want to come even more. 
I rubbed and squeezed my dress, getting down the stairs. Mom lifted her head up and smiled. 
"What's wrong?" she asked. 
I held tight onto her hand. Out came all my ways to go to the library. My mama smiled, took me, dragging toward the door. I grabbed her hand back and zoom—we went past bushy trees and kids staring at candy. But nothing distracted me. The library was on my mind. 
When I entered, a lady with a bushy beard was strolling a squeaky cart. A man sat cross-legged stirring his coffee. But me, myself—I had gone to the world of books, filled with fascinating stories and worlds. 
Exploring books, I turned to Mom. 
 "Can I get Amulet books?" I asked. 
My mom nodded and told me to stay in my seat. I watched her until my eyes got cloudy and the size of it hurt. Then my head spun to the clock at a really quick speed. I watched the minute hand click. My hand was filled with sweat, and my hand was so balled up that I was pretty sure the fingernails had deep scars already. My feet were washed in water, and I felt like peeing in my pants. 
The very second when I couldn't hold it, I ran to the bathroom at aimless speed. I cried and cried until I couldn't bear it. I ran out of the restroom, past my table, until I accidentally bumped into a woman. 
Someone with a glittery tag printed "Carrie" like a librarian was printed on the top. 
"You dirty orphan," she said. 
Anger and confusion rose from the bottom of my feet to the tip of my toes. I couldn't really see who she was with my watery eyes, but I bunched my hands together, and from the top of my lungs I shouted: 
"I am not an orphan!" 
I could hear it echoing in the library. But my mom can't hear because of the door. The woman turned her head rudely, but I didn't care. I continued running as fast as I could, my face was more red than ever. I passed through crowds of adults pointing at me or whispering rumors, until I reached the soothing, soft grass around the library, outside the door. 
As wind tickled my face and rest lessened from my cheeks, I decided to go back into the library. 
Before I could, I heard a librarian come out. 
 "What's your parents' phone number?" he asked. 
"650-123-4567," I recited. 
I was confused, but I was too shocked to reject the strange man. He dialed the number on his phone and my mom didn't answer. The guy seemed annoying. After all, he just came out of the door from nowhere—until he heard a walkie-talkie from a weird-talking librarian with an England accent. 
He raced toward me, grabbed my hand with his tough hands, which felt like icebergs with 100 muscles like a superhero, and dragged me into the library with great force. Or maybe he enjoyed it, yanking my arm across a few halls. 
I saw my mom across the graphic novel section, shouting. I couldn't believe that I didn't hear her. Perhaps I was in the kids' place for too long. 
I ran across to her, maybe pushing his arm this time somehow, breaking apart from him and flying into my mom with the speed of a big bullet. 
Then we walked together home, although I was pretty sure my mom's face was unhappy and gave me a pretty bad lesson on talking. 
But she cheered up later. 
 
That night, after we got home, Mom tucked me in with a long hug and whispered, 
 "You gave me the biggest scare of my life." 
I smiled, feeling warm and safe again. 
 "I thought I was the one who was lost," I said. 
She laughed. "Turns out we were both looking in the wrong place." Something in her face gave me a suspicious look. 
Just as I closed my eyes, something hard poked under my pillow. I reached in and pulled out a book—Amulet, Book One. 
There was a sticky note on it: 
 "From Carrie — the nice librarian. Sorry for the mix-up." 
I guess not all glittery name tags are bad.