Read Alma for Free Online Page A

looked up from a list he was making when Alma stood before his desk and said, “Ahem.”
    “How may I help you?” he asked without enthusiasm.
    “I have to write a biography of my favourite author. For school. But I can’t find anything about him.”
    Mr. Winters put down his pen and laced his fingers together as if about to deliver a speech. “In whom are you interested?”
    “RR Hawkins.”
    “Afraid I don’t know him. You’ve tried the catalogue?”
    “Yes.”
    “The encyclopedias?
Who’s Who?”
    “No.”
    Mr. Winters pointed to the stack nearest him. “Over there,” he said.
    “Thank you.”
    Alma’s mother was slipping the P volume of an encyclopedia into its proper place when Alma turned to the shelves.
    “Hello, dear,” Clara said.
    “Hi, Mom.”
    Her mother had come to the library directly from her noon shift at the Liffey. Her clothes smelled of cigarette smoke and cooking oil.
    “Shhhhhhh!”
Mr. Winters admonished them.
    Clara dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’ll shush you, Mr. High-and-mighty,” she hissed.
    Alma giggled. Clara and Mr. Winters were always at odds. “He’s not exactly the type to get down on the floor and play with the dog, is he?” Clara had once said of him. He acted as if he was Clara’s boss, but he wasn’t. Miss McGregor was.
    “What are you after today?” Clara asked.
    Alma told her about the project as she pulled down the H volumes of the three sets of encyclopedias and the
Who’s Who
.
    “Well, that should be a stroll in the park for you,” Clara said. “I’ve got to keep going.” She pushed the book cart down the row, passing Louise and her friends, who had come to the reference section.
    Polly wrinkled her nose. “I smell french fries,” she said in a stage whisper.
    “Suddenly I’m in the mood for fish and chips,” Samantha said with a giggle, just loud enough for Alma to hear.
    The three girls moved toward the check-out desk.
    Bet you wouldn’t think it was funny if I pushed the bunch of you down the basement stairs, Alma thought, slapping one volumeagainst another and earning a scowl from Mr. Winters. She took the heavy books to one of the tables and began her search. A few minutes later, she returned the volumes to their places, even though it was against the rules to reshelve books. But if she left them on the table her mother would have to replace them.
    Back in front of Mr. Winters’s desk, she said, “Ahem.”
    “Any luck?” Mr. Winters asked.
    “No. Is there anything else I can try?”
    “There are the vertical files, I suppose.” Mr. Winters rose slowly from his chair and went through a door behind him. He came back a few minutes later with a large folder in his hands.
    “You’re in luck,” he said, handing the file to Alma. “Reference only, by the way,” he added. “You can’t take it out of the library and you’ll have to use it right there.” He pointed to the table nearest his desk. “Do not change the order of the contents or write on them or damage them in any way.”
    “Yes,
sir,”
Alma said mockingly.
    Mr. Winters gave her a cold look. “The library closes in half an hour.”
    Alma carried the file to the table and sat down. She took a writing tablet and pencilfrom her school bag, then pulled on the black ribbon that held the musty folder closed. There wasn’t much inside—some newspaper clippings, a copy of a magazine article—Alma could tell from the glossy pages—and book reviews. She began to read and to make notes.
    RR Hawkins, she discovered, had been born in New York City, the only child of a wealthy businessman, James Earl Hawkins. RR’s mother wasn’t named. The RR stood for Rachel Rebecca.
    Alma had always assumed that the person who had created Centreworld and Alterworld, who had drawn the maps and invented the creatures who lived in those places and the languages they spoke, was a man.
    “Female!!!” Alma wrote on her pad. “Rachel Rebecca Hawkins.”
    For some reason, her discovery