Isla calls me a nincompoop when she hears my story about the accident with the scissors. Where in the world did she find that word? English is a piece of cake and when we go to our café after school, I'm in very high spirits.

After the third time I hum the dwarfs song about the mountains from The Hobbit, Isla asks me: "What universe did you come from?"

"Hmm?" I focus and see four sets of eyes watching me with suspicion.

"Isn't that the sad song from the beginning? The one they sing about their mountain?"

"Oh, did you watch The Hobbit? Did you know Legolas isn't even in that book?"

"Let me guess, you like the films better?"

I get saved by Isla's boyfriend who shoves next to her on the bench and asks if we're going to do something this weekend. Little do they know my new fascination with mountains has nothing to do with hobbits whatsoever.

Weekend. Two full days to roam around in books. So many opportunities, so many worlds. Looking at my injured hand I immediately cross a number of books off my list. Nothing dangerous, not until I know why I did get hurt and Sorley didn't.

The gang wants to go to the beach, cause the weather report promised sunshine. Normally I would have gone with them, but first I want to know if Sorley has plans. Or does that sound obsessive? It's just that we share a secret, one of those no one can ever guess. I feel as if I've known him for years instead of days.

"Really, Zara, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were dreaming about a boy."

My cheeks flare, which I try to hide by delving in my bag and searching for my phone a little longer than is necessary. I scroll aimlessly through a few apps, pretending to look through my agenda and then say, when I'm positive my voice is airy enough: "Nope, sorry, I can't come. Have a thing with my mum. Next time."

To avoid further questions, I get up and proclaim: "I'll see you Monday, okay? Have fun."

Isla runs after me and catches up near the door. "Hey, you okay?"

"Sure, why not?" My voice is too high and I laugh a bit. "Nothing's the matter, I'm just behind with my homework, so I want to get that done first. Before the a ... thing, with my mother."

She doesn't believe me. That's what happens when you've been best friends for years. I'm glad she's confident enough that I'll tell her if something's up. With a hug, we say goodbye and I wave to the rest. Oh well, gives them something to gossip about.

---

Instead of cycling straight home, I dive into the library first when I'm sure no one's looking. I get a card in no time and run my finger over the many book spines. I read a bunch of blurbs, but the book I'm holding now is coming with me. A chick-lit about friends and boys and high school perils. Sounds innocent enough.

A book of strange fairy tales also disappears in my bag and one with an alien on the side. Why not. As long as I remember the title I'm safe, right?"

I'd much rather begin to read the first book right away, but I know that if I spend the whole weekend inside books, I'm going to have a problem on Monday. So I'm a good girl and start with my homework first, like I told Ilsa. After that I throw together a simple macaroni oven dish, write a message to my mum on our kitchen whiteboard and close the door to my room behind me.

Before I open the book, I take the bandage off my hand. The wound looks good and healed and hardly hurts any more. At least it's good to know the knife was made from solid material. I'm not looking for rust poisoning or something.

The book is called 'You and I'. I imprint the words in my brain – not much to it – and locate the first page.

When I wind up in a bedroom, I burst out laughing. Everything, literally everything is baby pink. The curtains, the luxurious carpet, the coverlet on the bed and the frivolous pillow. Dozens of stuffed animals are hanging in some sort of net and all of them – I'm not exaggerating – are pink.

Behind a desk is a girl that smiles at me and says in a friendly manner: "Hello, my name is Ally, can you hand me the scissors?"

I look sideways, pick up the pink scissors and hand it to Ally. See, this is how it's suppose to go. Ally responds to me as if it's not weird at all I'm suddenly in her room. She just keeps cutting and designs a collage from photos. The main characters in it are herself and two girls who are just as blond and have the same radiant smiles.

"Who are they?" I ask, looking over her shoulder.

"Melany and Susy, my BFF's."

Ally starts a narrative about all the adventures they've had since they were little, which gives me the idea that the beginning of the book mostly consists of descriptions of the three girls.

I leave her to talk, until the door gets thrown open and a little boy races inside. The two argue, the little brother disappears and Ally tells me: "Ricky is so annoying all the time. Really, I don't get why mum and dad thought it was a good idea to have another kid."

Ally, Melany, Susy, Ricky ... I think the author has a thing for y's. Would I be able to skip parts? If something doesn't happen soon, I doze off on the pink bed. Fortunately Ally gets up and leaves the room. As a test I remain standing by the door. Would that be possible? To stay behind in a room while the story continues? According to 'Paper walker' Sorley was in Michael's book for twelve years. But whether that means the story itself took place in twelve years or that he was able to extend his visit, I don't know. I put it on my list of questions.

When Ally stops at the bottom of the stairs and looks up at me with an expectant smile, I smile back. However a few minutes later my jaw starts to hurt. Ally seems frozen. So I guess it's the first option. I sure don't hope this story lasts twelve years. I generally avoid girls like Ally in real life.

She continues down the stairs when I walk towards her and soon I get to enjoy the hectic morning ritual of the family. There is a busy mother, who gives me a quick hello and leaves the house like a whirlwind. Father is making lunch for his children and grabs a third lunch box when he sees me. Ew, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I'm so glad I already know I don't necessarily have to eat inside a book.

We're in America. I thought as much, but when we get into a yellow school bus filled with screaming kids, I'm sure. Ally introduces me to her friends, who don't think anything off it than I'm here. I immediately get informed about all the latest gossip. They tell me about all the passengers and also about the boys who are too cool to take the bus. Neal even has his own car. Would that be Ally's love interest? Or could it be the nerd who just gets in, takes one look at the three friends and turns beetroot red? I relax and hang back, insofar that's possible in a rocking bus. This is better than watching a movie.

Right before we can get involved in a big fight in front of the school, at the end of the first day, bright light flashes for my eyes and I'm back in my room. My mother opens the door ans asks: "Why do you want me to remind you of the time. Don't you have an alarm?"

Slightly disoriented, I check the clock. Eight already, wow, time flies.

"My phone just died", I lie. "Thanks mum."

With a shake of her head she closes the door behind her and I lock it when her footsteps recede. My heart is still in my throat. It beats so fast I empty a glass of water first. I blame the palpitations on the fight I just witnessed, or the fright of my mothers unexpected entrance. Alright, not entirely unexpected, I did ask her myself, but never mind that. At least it has nothing to do with my meeting with Sorley. Meeting, as in, a two people meeting for an appointment. Not a date.

I take a deep breath, shake my head to clear the cobwebs and stupid thoughts en plop down on the bed with the booklet. Sorley, here I come. Oh, no, wait. I quickly close the book and grab my phone. There I go.

He's already there. Or has he been here all this time? Perhaps he tries to rekindle his friendship with Michael. He's not wearing a special outfit, it's tracksuit bottoms, just like yesterday. Although he is wearing a different T-shirt this time. A blue one that says: 'I know'.

"Hey", I greet him a little out of breath. Boy, it sounds as if I rushed to get here.

He greets me back with a crooked grin. "Looking for proof?"

I frown and he points at my hand. Oh, my cell. Now that I still have the nerve, I point the camera at him and tap on the screen. So, that one is mine. Sorley huffs and shakes his head. To show I didn't take it just for him, I turn around, meanwhile filming the attic room.

"Hey, what's this book called. I want to see the house from the outside and I can't when I'm inside 'Paper walker'"

Sorley seems reluctant to answer, but I could be imagining things. It could be he's just not keen on another round of twenty questions. Eventually he replies: "'Brotherhood', about the beginning of the Irish revolution."

Hmm, doesn't really sound like a book I would read. "And Michael is in that revolution?"

"No", Sorley gets up and begins to rummage between the books on the top shelve. "His father is one of the financiers, he wants ... he just wants to protect this house, marry Rianne Collins, nice girl, her ..." His voice fades. A feeling of guilt drifts my way on the wind that blows in through the open window.

"I'm sorry", I mumble once more. It surprises me he still wanted to see me.

He shrugs. "Sooner or later it had to happen anyway. I was over there way too long.

"It must be a big book?"

"Why?"

"Well, that you were there for twelve years. You were even dressed differently and ... well, in my book it said you were pretty upset when you left."

For a moment Sorley stares at me, till it becomes uncomfortable and I look away.

"Books are a good place to hide."

His soft voice pulls my eyes back to him. Hide? What in the world would he have to hide from? He's good looking, friendly, likes to read. Thousands of girls would kill to get a guy like that. But I don't say anything, cause what do I know about his life?

I really have to come up with a different subject, and soon, before he decides this is stupid and leaves.

"By the way, I was just inside this book and when I tried to stay behind in the main persons room, she sort of froze. Apparently you can't do anything else besides follow the story."

He tilts his head and purses his lips.

"Right?" I ask, perhaps I should have tried something else before giving up.

"Well, it kind of depends on what the main character is doing at the time." He walks over to the window, where the wind blows the black hair from his forehead. "You can stall. When he, she, when that person is doing something and you leave the room where he's doing it, the story indeed freezes. In that time you can do your own thing. It gets boring, cause nothing happens, but ... it is possible."

"Is that ... is that what you did, in here?"

He doesn't turn around, but I can see his shoulders tense.

"You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to. I'll shut up about it. We can talk about something else, if you'd like. I googled Boulder" I blurt out.

That makes him laugh and I relax as well.

"Probably not as interesting as where you live."

"Are you kidding me? Seriously? Boulder is a million times more interesting then where I live."

"And where is that?"

"Eh, Alkmaar. Google it."

He pulls something from his pocket and grins at me. "No coverage."

I burst out laughing. However before I can ask for his number, he shoves the cellphone back in his pocket and turns around again. Maybe some other time. Later, when we know each other a little better. The idea cheers me up.

My eye catches the desk. "Hey, we were suppose to try to open the secret compartment, remember?"

Sorley looks over his shoulder at where my hand is pointing to and asks with a snort: "Do you want another scar?"

I check my hand and shrug. "It's already healed, wasn't so bad. And it was just a stupid accident." I don't even feel it any more.

On my knees, next to the desk, I pick at the edges of the slat. Stupid of me to forget the screwdriver.

"I think I know why you got hurt in here and I didn't. In the other book, I mean."

Curious I lift my head. He thought about it?

"I think it's because you were using my knife, the one I took from home. It didn't belong in the book and so it could ... hurt you." He clears his throat, throws a quick glance my way and then fixates his gaze on the desk.

Yeah, that sounds plausible indeed. "So, if you had handed me a knife from over here, nothing would have happened?"

"I think so. Care to try?"

My eyebrows skyrocket. "No! Of course not. Do it yourself."

He briefly smiles and walks to the door. "I'll get a screwdriver from the barn."

The door closes behind him before I can get up, but when I turn the knob, the door is locked. How about that.

During the wait I open a bunch of drawers. There's not much interesting in it. Pencils, more paper, most of them are just empty. No, my hope rests with the secret compartment beneath. I get comfortable on the floor and search for wi-fi on my cellphone. Nothing, Ha. An other thing to try in a different book. See if I have coverage there. That would be super weird. To be able to call Isla from inside a book. I doubt it's possible.

Sorley returns with a complete toolbox, but his face is sad. I don't dare to ask if he ran into Michael. He sets the toolbox down next to me, bends over and places the screwdriver against the wood. I move out of his way and watch anxiously how the slat comes loose.

There's a screeching noise and a hidden drawer appears. A few pages fall to the ground when Sorley pulls it open and we reach for them at the same time. He touches the back of my hand and quickly withdraws his fingers. For a moment a flutter in my stomach distracts me, then I focus on the papers. They're pamphlets.

"'Equality. It is new strung and shall be heard'", I read out loud, while turning the page because the letters are written on a ribbon around some sort of harp.

"Cumann na nÉireannach Aontaithe", Sorley says next to me.

"What?"

"Society of the united Irishmen", he translates for me.

"You can speak Irish? That was awesome." Better yet, it was hot. I need a distraction.

"So, what are these? Irish pamphlets?"

Sorley doesn't answer right away, but examines the handful of pages intently. "Michael knows his father is involved with the revolution, but this proves his grandfather was too. I must have missed it, or it isn't mentioned until the end."

And that's where he hasn't been yet. Will he ever get there? Is that possible, without having to start over completely?

"You do know you can read the book the normal way, right?" I softly inquire. He nods, yeah, he probably figured that out long ago.

We look at the pamphlets a while longer and then Sorley shoves them back, as well as he can. The wood is damaged, but we both know it will be fixed the next time we get here.

"Quite the pair we make," I sigh, looking up at the dark wooden ceiling above us.

"Hmm?"

"Well, digging for hidden treasures inside this book, while the world out there doesn't even know this exists."

I turn his way and see him nodding, deep in thought.

"Did you tell any one? Do your parents know?"

"No, nobody knows."

"Hey, if you managed to extend the story, weren't you in here incredibly long? didn't your parents get worried or something?"

He does that funny thing with his lips again. It looks a bit like pouting, but not exactly.

"My ... parents, died, about seven years ago in a car accident. I live with my grandma and no, she doesn't worry much."

My eyes must look like saucers. Any moment now they roll over the floor and I have to reach for them like those three Greek witches. I quickly blink. Shoot, what do you say to that? Sorry?

"Hey, is it okay if we continue some other time." He gets op so abruptly that he towers over me and because he blocks the light of the window – it stays light longer this time of year – for a moment he is this big, forbidding shadow. I scribble to my feet and nod like a madman. Zara, keep your head still. Should I say something? I wouldn't know what, so I just nod again.

Sorley sits down in the chair and mutters: "Brotherhood, the end."

For many long minutes I just stare at the empty space in front of me. We didn't agree on a time. Or a day. Can I assume we have an other date tomorrow at the same time?

I will. Imagining the alternative, that he never wants to see me again, is simply too terrible.