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examining the pile of unhealthy goodies on his desk.
    The oatmeal cookies proved the perfect accompaniment to James’s afternoon coffee. As soon as he had washed out his Forget Google, Ask a Librarian mug and returned to the circulation desk, the high school students began to drift in.
    By the time retired middle school teacher Mrs. Waxman arrived at five thirty, there were at least six teenagers seated at computers or leafing through magazines. By six thirty, the number had doubled, and by seven thirty, it had tripled.
    James and Mrs. Waxman took turns hushing the boisterous group and asking them if they needed help finding any materials. They all refused, stating that they were meeting friends or waiting to use one of the computers. One teen even pretended that she was a member of a book club and that she was waiting for her group to decide on which novel to read next. When James offered to provide recommendations, she shook her head vehemently and quickly said, “Oh, that’s okay. We only read the It Girl books.” She then turned her back on him and began to type a text message on her cell phone.
    Deciding to approach the kids on an individual basis, James strolled up to a young girl in a denim miniskirt that barely covered her rump and asked, “Can I help you find something, Miss?”
    The girl hastily closed a folder and stuffed it, along with what appeared to be a pen-sized X-Acto knife, into her canvas purse and giggled nervously. “No thanks. I’m waiting for a computer to open up.”
    “And what might you be utilizing our fine new computers for?” James asked, his voice betraying his suspicion. “Just out of curiosity.”
    A boy sitting too close to the girl with the short skirt sneered. “Dude, she doesn’t have to tell you anything. There’s, like, privacy laws against that. What she does on the computer is her business. You’re a public servant ,” he said as his lip curled, “so be careful or you could get sued.”
    Though James felt like grabbing the surly teenager by the throat and squeezing hard, he smiled patiently instead. He wanted to use this opportunity to guess what had driven the motley assembly of kids into the library, and he felt that he had a pretty clear idea of what their goal was, having glimpsed the small knife.
    Forcing his eyes to turn steely, he whispered, “That’s right, son. I am a proud servant of the public. Our town is filled with a host of public servants. Let’s see, we have mail carriers, the folks working at the DMV, and the fine men and women of our sheriff’s department. I have one friend in particular, a Deputy Hanover, who feels very strongly about preventing young drivers from driving while under the influence.” The boy turned his eyes away from James and did his best to appear bored.
    James looked at the girl and allowed his gaze to soften slightly. His tone conversational, he continued. “This officer is also devoted to tracking down each and every fake license in the county. She truly wants to keep all of the drivers within our county safe, and those possessing false licenses are often some of the worst drivers, due to their inexperience.”
    The girl blanched. James had struck a nerve by mentioning fake licenses. Silently apologizing to Lucy for taking such liberties in her name, he plowed on. “You know, I believe you could spend six months in jail for carrying one of those licenses.” James flicked his eyes back to the boy, who continued to act disinterested, but his fidgety hands belied his agitation.
    “A person could face a fine and a year’s time in jail for making and distributing fake IDs,” James concluded.
    At this opportune moment, a hulking young man wearing a thin leather coat and walking with a cowboylike swagger entered the library. His hair was dark, long, and greasy, his skin shone with oil, and he was clean-shaven except for a straight line of hair growing down the center of his chin. The hair had been dyed orange. In addition to