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in this case—identifies the stack and collection: Stack 2, Textiles and Garb. After the prefix comes the Dewey decimal number.”
    “So where’s II T&G 391.440944 L46?”
    “You can check the wall map. Fifth row east. This way.” I followed her down another dim aisle between cabinets labeled with call numbers.
    When we reached the right row, Ms. Callender stopped and twisted a dial on the wall, like a kitchen timer. A light came on in the aisle. “The lights are on timers to save energy,” said Ms. Callender. “That way you don’t have to worry if you forget to turn them off behind you.”
    She opened the cabinet door and pulled a small umbrella out of a cubbyhole. “Always double-check to make sure you have the right object,” she said, opening the umbrella gently. She inspected the handle and read a cardboard tag. “This is it.” We headed back toward the desks.
    Ms. Callender marked the call slip with her initials and sent the umbrella up to the Main Examination Room in the medium-size dumbwaiter. “That’s the basic idea,” she said. “For today, you can shadow Aaron—he’ll tell you what to do. And let me know if you run into any trouble.”

    Aaron was reading a book at one of the desks. “So you’re the new girl,” he said, looking up.
    “I’m Elizabeth Rew,” I said.
    “Aaron Rosendorn.”
    “How long have you worked here?” I asked.
    “Two years.”
    “You must like it, then,” I said.
    “Yeah.”
    “What’s your favorite thing about it? Do you have a favorite collection?”
    “What do you mean?” His eyes narrowed.
    “I don’t know—there are different collections here, right? The textiles on this stack and the china upstairs. Or I heard someone say something about the Grimm Collection, whatever that is. Do you have a favorite?”
    He frowned. The light from the reading lamp threw shadows on his high cheekbones and around his nose, giving him an arrogant expression—or maybe that was just how he looked. “Why do you want to know?” he asked. He sounded either stuck up or paranoid.
    “No reason—I was just making conversation. Is it a big secret or something?”
    “No, not really,” he said. “This is one of the world’s great repositories. It’s an honor to work here.” He looked at me for a few seconds like he was sizing me up. “How did you get the job?”
    Was he implying I didn’t deserve it? “My social studies teacher, Mr. Mauskopf. He used to work here himself when he was our age. He knows Dr. Rust and Ms. Callender.”
    “Where do you go to school?”
    “Fisher.”
    “Oh, with Marc Merritt.” Now he sounded even more suspicious and disapproving. What was wrong with this guy? Everyone else here seemed so friendly.
    “Yes, Marc’s in my class,” I said.
    “How nice for you,” said Aaron. What an unpleasant person, I thought.
    A pneum came rattling through the pipes and thumped into the basket. Aaron pulled out the slip and handed it to me. “Let’s see how you handle this,” he said.
    “You sure you trust me?” I was a little surprised at my own sarcastic tone. This guy really got under my skin.
    “Not yet. That’s the point. The last page, the one you’re replacing—she was a disaster. I’m a senior page. I have responsibilities. I need to see how you work.”
    “Was that Mona?”
    “No, Zandra. What do you know about Mona?”
    “Nothing, really—just that Anjali told me she disappeared. Who’s Zandra, and why was she a disaster?”
    “Never mind Zandra. She was a disorganized mess-up and a liar and a thief, and now she’s gone. Let’s see if you’re better.”
    Wow, I thought, this guy could be related to my stepsisters. “Fine,” I said. I read the slip, a request for a Chinese headdress. I found the right cabinet easily enough, despite the dim room. But when I reached up for the elaborate headdress, Aaron hovered so close I was afraid he was going to step on my feet. I tilted the headdress to slide it off the