"I don't have anything to read!"
The plaintive voice of six-year-old Daria Morgendorffer interrupted her parents' evening routine of "just a few more minutes of work" (Helen) and "just one more martini to unwind" (Jake).
"Sweetie," Helen said, glancing up from her legal brief, "you have lots of books! Entire shelves of them!"
Daria shook her head stubbornly. "I've read them all. I want a new one."
"It's getting late and tonight is a school night," Helen reminded her. "We can't go out and buy you a new book right this minute."
"Could I read one of yours?" Daria asked.
Jake smiled at his daughter. "I'm sure our grown-up books wouldn't be very interesting to you."
"I can try," she insisted. "Can I read one of the books Mommy keeps at the bottom of the drawer next to her bed?"
Helen's eyes went wide and Jake almost spat out his martini. "Um...those aren't..." Helen was flailing for either an excuse or a distraction. "A little help, Jake?"
"Okay, Kiddo," Jake said with a tired smile. "I'll stop and pick one up for you after work tomorrow. What book did you have in mind?"
The little girl shrugged. "I don't know yet. But it's going to be really good. The best story ever."
Jake chuckled. "Could you be a little more specific?"
"No."
Helen sighed. "Why don't you reread one of your old ones for now and this weekend we'll go to the library?"
Daria considered her offer, then nodded. "Okay."
As she headed back in the direction of her room, Jake turned to his wife with a sly grin. "So, about those books..."
o O o
The children's librarian looked up as Daria approached and smiled. "How's my best customer?"
"Libraries have patrons, not customers," was the girl's blunt reply.
"Well, you're still one of my favorites," the librarian persisted. "How can I help you today?"
"I want a book about talking animals that go on a quest."
"Let's see..." The librarian thought about it. "We do have several books like that. How about-"
"They also follow a portal to another dimension and get turned into superheroes."
"Ah." The librarian tapped her desk lightly with her fingertips. "That doesn't sound familiar. Do you know the title or the author?"
Daria shook her head. "I haven't read it before. I want to find it."
Sensing a challenge, the librarian leaned back. "Well, I pride myself on always finding the right book for the right reader. Let's figure this out. So, talking animals. A quest. A portal to another dimension. And superheroes."
"Also a spooky part with a ghost."
"Hmmm."
"And they have to solve a mystery involving a magical radish."
"I don't-"
"Oh, and no princesses."
The librarian sighed. "I'm afraid we don't seem to have a book with those...exact...specifications. I'd be happy to help you find books that are similar, though!"
Daria frowned. "No. I only want to read that book."
The disappointed librarian gave Daria a sympathetic smile. "I'm very sorry."
"It's okay." Daria was accustomed to life's disappointments, so the failure didn't particularly surprise her. Turning away, she went to find her parents and go back home.
o O o
Back in her room, Daria stared at the many books overflowing her bookshelves and talked quietly to herself. "It's the perfect story; I just need to find it. They sneak onto a spaceship and visit an alien planet. There has to be at least one car chase that ends in an explosion. A big one! And they make friends with cowboys, pirates, and a circus clown." She tilted her head, thinking it over. "But it's not a silly story. It can be funny, though."
As she continued sorting out the details of her perfect story, it gradually dawned on her that she was enjoying the process. A lot. She rummaged through her messy bedroom until she found a notebook and a pencil and sat down on her bed.
It started with a long list of notes, which soon became a slightly-disorganized outline. The next thing she knew, Daria was trying out different opening lines until she found the one she liked best. Then she wrote the second line. And the third.
By the time Helen called her for dinner, Daria was holding the final draft of her story. Her only regret was that she didn't have the artistic skills to draw pictures to go along with it. Maybe someday she'd find someone who could illustrate her stories.
"I'll be there in just a minute," she called back to Helen. Then she sat down to-at last-read the perfect book.