capacity,â Kylie said. âLetâs box âem up and get them loaded.â
There was only enough room for two passengers in each car: Kylie and her dad, and Marisol and Jenna.
âI win Father of the Year for this,â Mr. Carson said, getting his keys. âAnd youâre lucky itâs not a school night. Itâll take us at least an hour to get thereâif thereâs no traffic, but there will be on a Friday night.â
âIâll make it up to you,â Kylie promised. âYou can sleep late tomorrow morning, and Iâll make you pancakes.â
âWith some of those leftover blueberries?â he asked, turning on the ignition. âNow youâre talkinâ!â
The trip took them longer than expected. When they finally arrived at the library, it was eight thirty. Kylie knocked on the door, but it was locked and no one answered. She peered through the window and saw that everything was dark and quiet inside.
âI thought Ms. Cushman said she would wait for us,â Jenna said, carrying a stack of boxes out of the car.
âShe also said she never misses an episode of History Chronicles ,â Kylie recalled. âWhich started a half hour ago.â
âNow what?â Marisol grumped. âItâs freezing out here, and weâve got three hundred cupcakes and no one to accept them.â
âI suggest we drive down the road and find a neighbor willing to hold them for Ms. Cushman till tomorrow morning,â Mr. Carson suggested. âOr it wonât be just the cupcakes that freeze.â
They all piled back in and drove to a small house just down the street from the library. Kylie rang the doorbell and crossed her fingers.
A gray-haired man opened the door a crack and peeked outside. âMay I help you?â he asked.
âI hope so!â Kylie exclaimed. âWe have to deliver these cupcakes to the library but it took longer than we thought to mix the batter and Jenna had to buy berries and then we hit traffic and Ms. Cushman left to go watch her TV show.â
The man scratched his bearded chin. âIâm not sure what youâre talking about,â he said. âBut if youâre selling cupcakes, Iâll take one.â
âNo.â Kylie tried to explain better. âTheyâre for the libraryâs annual fund-raiser tomorrow night. Weâre not selling any, but if you can hold on to them for Ms. Cushman to pick up tomorrow, weâll gladly give you one.â
The man opened the door the rest of the way. âI know Ms. Cushman very well, and Iâll let her know I have them,â he said. âYou can bring them into the kitchen and leave them there for her.â
He motioned to a room down the hall. âItâs right through there, past the photos on the wall.â
As they all piled past him carrying box after box, his eyes grew wide. âI thought it was a dozen or so cupcakesâ¦not enough for General Washingtonâs army!â
âSorry,â Kylie apologized. âMs. Cushman asked us to double the amount at the last minute, so Iâm afraid thereâs a whole carload more.â
âYou might want to stack those in the living room,â he suggested. âItâs a pretty small kitchen.â
As Marisol walked by, she couldnât help noticing all the amazing framed pictures. âWow, did you take these?â she asked.
âI did,â the man said. âI used to be a professional photographer. In fact, the library has a few of my shots on display.â
She put the boxes down and walked back to get a better look. âTheyâre amazing. Like something out of National Geographic magazine.â
âYou have a good eye. I used to shoot for National Geographic .â He pointed to the signature in the corner of the print. âThatâs me. Harold Hammond.â
Marisol continued to study the pictures. There were several of a desert at