Finally. This is it. The big chapter. The chapter that by now probably seems like one I don’t want to tell. The one I’ve been putting off for two chapters. Do you know the one? You do…fine, fine—I know I’m stalling. I have my reasons…hey, you know what? If I tell you my reason I can stall a bit more.

Okay, you want to know the biggest reason? No? Well I don’t care, I’m going to say it anyway—it’s my story. Okay? Okay.

The biggest reason: it’s one of the final secrets of the library tree. As soon as I explain how to grow it, then what else is there to expose? It’s heartbreaking really. It’s like I have completely sold out. Yes the money is nice, but as I reach the nearing points of this story, I have begun to question who I really am. Have I become a man willing to sell all my respect as a librarian?

But, then again, you know what? Who am I? I am a rich man! So on that note, I suppose I’m ready to do it—to sell off the last bit of respect. Are you ready to hear it? I figured you were. Okay let’s get into it, shall we?

So when we last saw Jake, myself, and company, they had just seen the aftermath of two ninjas fighting over an imaginary Skittle, and were preparing to embark on a tour of where the trees were made.

The stories progressed a little, but not much, since then. The setting is actually now inside the tree making warehouse. You’ll note that I’ve purposely left out a “walking to the warehouse” scene because they’re difficult to write and they’re usually quite boring. I read a book once and it actually had this line: “They walked and still walked and kept walking and moved along slowly, walking, and walking, and walking, and stopped.” It was horrid—absolutely horrid. So I’ll spare you.

Now I’m not into descriptions, as you’ve probably guessed by now, but I suppose it would be kind of me to give you some image of the warehouse. So here go: it was big. Fine, I’ll be more detailed: there were stacks of pots, seeds, and gardening tools scattered around the building. In the center of the room, was a giant shredder that was surrounded by huge books. Next to the shredder was a mixture of sorts. There were half dozen three-eyed men moving things around, but no one was potting new trees.

“Over here.” Gatsby proudly motioned.

Jake and I followed him to the shredder where he announced, “This is where it all goes down.”

“How’s it work?”

“Well I’m getting to that.” He lifted up a book that said The Non-Concise Dictionary of Every Single Word, and said, “What we do is shred up this dictionary, and mix it with mud and our secret ingredient, then the books start to grow.”

“What’s the secret ingredient?” Jake anxiously asked.

Gatsby smiled and said, “Now would it be a secret if I told you?”

“You’ve told him about everything else.” I sarcastically pointed out.

“Well you can tell him if you want to.”

I nodded no.

“Well then, you shut-up.”

Jake laughed, and then apologized.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. All you’ve did since you got here is complain about what you didn’t like.”

I didn’t speak.

There was a very awkward silence. All of the other three-eyed people had turned to stare at me.
Their third I seemed to somehow be agreeing with what Gatsby had just said.

“How do you know what kind of books it will grow?” Jake asked breaking the silence.

“It’s somewhat a surprise, but there are techniques to use.” He paused, “Such as if you want only one kind of book to grow, then you only mix one dictionary, if you want five different titles, then you mix five, and so on. The only exception is seven—if you want seven to grow, then you need nine dictionaries…we don’t know why.”

“Cool!”

Gatsby nodded no, “That’s not the coolest part—at least I don’t think so. I like the part about how to get a particular kind of book to grow—such as a kid’s book.”

“How’s that work?” Jake asked curiously.

“It’s really quite simple. If you want a kid’s book, then you use twenty percent of the dictionary. If you want a young adult books take sixty-two percent. But all of it also has to have a gardeners touch. Are kids go to school for ten years to learn how to grow a tree. Having a child that’s a gardener is like having a child that’s a doctor. They’re the most respected of all our people.”

“Really leave nothing up to the imagination do you?” I said.

“I don’t know what the big secret is.”

“Of course you don’t. You live in this little book land. In the real world people need to believe in such things as authorship—there’s a reason why ‘author’ makes up the first part of ‘authority.’”
Gatsby looked at me oddly. “What reason is that?”

“I can’t remember.” Indeed the day had left me confused about several things.

“Nonsense.” Gatsby announced, “Now—Jake, enough with the tour, how would you like to read some books? New ones—freshly picked today.”

“I’d love to.”

“Do you really think there’s time for reading?”

Gatsby led us to a room I had seen only once before: the library. Several bean bags were placed in a neat circle in the center of the room, and bookcases lined the walls. It was full of books Jake had never read.

“I had some books I thought you’d like put on that chair.” Gatsby pointed to the chair nearest the door.

Jake ran to the, and immediately began to read the covers. There was one about a pickle that ruled the world, another about dogs that doubled as spies, and finally one about a skateboarding donkey that fought crime with his magical tongue—Jake put this one on top.

“Would you mind if the librarian and I leave you to read for a bit? We need to talk.”

“We do?” I asked.

Jake nodded no and began reading immediately.

Gatsby looked at me and said, “We need to talk about the body in your trunk.”
This statement probably would have alarmed Jake, had he not already started to read. It’s probably alarmed you, or at the very least got you interested. I leave you to think about it.