Green Dragon Books: 5 of 30
Thursday, Nov. 5, 2026
I looked up from the book I was reading — Charcoal Joe, by Walter Mosley — and noticed a child standing in front of the counter, staring up at me. She was about four feet tall, with black-framed glasses and her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a Hello Kitty dress and Mary Jane shoes and she was looking directly at me with sharp brown eyes.
“Um…,” I said, startled. “Hello?”
“Hello.”
“Can I help you?”
“My name is Addison, but my nickname is Adi. You can call me Adi. My mom is getting her hair cut next door, she said to come over and pick out a book.”
“That’s a cool mom. Do you read a lot?”
Adi shrugged. “Kind of. For school.”
Hobbes, hearing conversation, stretched and did his fanciest prance over to the girl, rubbing against her in hopes of head scratches. It worked, Adi clearly loved cats. She squatted down next to him and began petting him in earnest.
“Cats only know you 90 percent after meeting you; they have to get used to your smell,” Adi informed me in an officious tone.
“Ah.”
“Your cat is nice. Some cats are suspi… susp… how do you say it?”
“Su-spi-cious.”
“Right, some cats are that of people, but he seems used to people.”
“He probably is. I have another one, a tabby, she’s sleeping in a sun beam somewhere. We get lots of customers who like cats. Something about books and cats seems to go together.”
Adi nodded and continued stroking Hobbes. “You don’t have a lot of customers in here now,” she observed.
“It ebbs and flows.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Er…”
But Adi wasn’t interested in an explanation. She stood, pushed her oversized glasses back up her nose and walked over to one of my display tables. It was full of mystery and romance novels.
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“Do you have any kids’ books?”
“Some. A few picture books, there against the far wall. And plenty of chapter books. How old are you?”
“Eight. I’ll be nine soon. My birthday is in March.”
“Well then you should be able to read some of these chapter books. Have you ever heard of The Boxcar Children?”
Adi shook her head. I walked her over to the children’s and YA section and began pulling some books off the shelves.
“I loved these when I was your age. The Boxcar Children were orphans and they lived in this abandoned train car, at least until they met like their uncle or grandfather or something. I can’t remember. Ah, here are some more. Beverly Cleary was the best, she wrote about Henry Huggins and his dog, Ribsy. Here’s a book you’ll like from her: Ramona Quimby, Age 8, like you. Ramona had an older sister, Beezus, which is a nickname. Here you go, Ramona and Beezus.”
Adi took the book and slowly flipped through it. “How many AR points is this?”
“Haven’t the foggiest. You should read just to read, forget points.”
“But we need points for class.”
I remembered that, when I was her age, I was motivated by a personal pan pizza from Pizza Hut, the reward for their Book-It program. External motivation wasn’t a bad thing.
“Well we can look it up. The Little Princess is a great, another orphan story, I think. And Anne of Green Gables… sure are a lot of orphans in kids literature. I wonder why that is.”
“I’m not an orphan.”
“Lucky you. What a great age to be reading. Island of the Blue Dolphins, The Witch of Blackbird Pond, The Cricket in Times Square, Trumpet of the Swan… you really have it made, kid.”
Adi stacked the books I was handing her on the floor. “My mom said one book. This is like, ten.”
“She’s not going to buy you ten books?”
Adi shook her head.
“That’s a shame. I would sell her ten books. Which one are you the most interested in?”
“I don’t know. They all look good. I guess the one about the girl my age.”
We went back to the counter and she handed me a $5 bill. I gave her back 26 cents in change. And I slipped a copy of Ginger Pye into her bag.
You can never have enough books.
