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Chapter 1 & 2 - The Child in the Museum
🕑 Added 2024-07-08 19:17:05 +0000 UTCMiddle Grade (ages 8-12) Children's Novel
First Edited Draft - Feedback is welcome! <3
Chapter 1
Amelia’s eyes fluttered open. Light streamed in through the large window overlooking the city. For as long as she could remember, she needed to be highly attuned to the change of light throughout the seasons. She also had trained her ear to pick up the sounds of the birds in the park next door. These skills became essential in getting her through each day without the unwanted attention of others.
Amelia allowed herself a few moments of luxury, enjoying the feeling of the silk bed covers. She let the weight of her small body sink into the fluffy mattress, stretching her arms wide open as if embracing the entirety of the beautifully decorated room. Her eyes followed the gold trim along the edges of the walls, swirling in gorgeous designs as it reached the intricately carved ceiling. Above her hung a chandelier with hundreds—if not thousands—of glimmering crystals. She was in a bed fit for a princess in what was perhaps the grandest bedroom in the entire city. Amelia knew how lucky she was, and reminded herself of this fact every day. Not every orphan gets to live like royalty; she may, in fact, be the only one.
She heard the twitter of a bird nesting outside the window, a gentle reminder of the time. She put her feet on the cold floor, looking around to find where she had kicked off her shoes. One shoe was underneath the bed, and another was sitting a few feet away. Bending down to put the shoes on her feet, she smoothed her wrinkled dress from the night’s sleep. The color of her dress was garish, and if she were to be honest, definitely too bright for someone wanting to be invisible. Perhaps it was time to treat herself to a new dress.
Amelia stood up and began to carefully smooth the covers of the bed. Almost as important as waking up in time was the fact that her bed had to be impeccably made, with not one wrinkle in sight. She walked over to a giant dresser—also ornately carved like the ceiling of her room—and examined herself in the mirror. Smoothing her dark, curly hair with her hands, she willed herself to be as invisible as possible. Her appearance would have to do until later in the morning, when she would have more time to freshen up.
Out of habit Amelia eyed the ceiling again, tracing where it connected to the hallway. She knew the exact path she would have to walk in order to avoid the constant gaze of the cameras. Luckily, in the French Interiors area the cameras tended to be pointed toward the visitors, and less so at every corner of the rooms themselves. This particular corner of “her” room has been safe for quite a while, although she has had to move in the past. Moving, however, is comparatively easy, as she doesn’t leave a trace behind; everything she “owns” at any given time is carried with her. You don’t need much, after all, when you already live like a princess.
The distant sound of a walkie-talkie cut through the peaceful quiet. The museum staff were moving toward their positions. She had about an hour before the museum opened and the visitors began to trickle in. This was the time for Amelia to be the most invisible.
Amelia followed her usual path along the edge of the room and slipped out through the side of the exhibit. She darted along the dark part of the hall, each step carefully chosen to dodge all of the camera’s viewpoints and any alarm triggers. She had walked these carefully chosen paths through the museum so many times that her body had memorized them. Moving with ease and grace, she wondered if perhaps her true calling was to be a ballerina, as she sometimes imagined herself when lost in the dreamy worlds of the paintings upstairs.
Other children went to school. Other children’s parents paid for them to have classes which furthered their interests. Other children had to be guided, scolded, and controlled. Amelia was free. Her education was the museum itself, and this museum might as well be the entire world.
Amelia slipped into a tiny side stairwell, meant only for staff, knowing that no one would be coming this direction—at least not yet. Scurrying downstairs, she entered the area of the coat room, where museum workers stored visitors’ belongings as they explored the museum. In a side room, there was a large lost-and-found bin. Amelia imagined that this bin was her own personal department store. No staff entered or even observed this area until the museum opened. For at least half an hour Amelia would be free to try on clothes at her leisure. Luckily, many absent-minded mothers had left bags full of clothing changes for their children, which over the years had ended up in this treasure trove of forgotten items. Anything she could ever want to wear was within this bin, and she frequently switched out her outfits so that she wouldn’t be recognized day-to-day by any of the staff. Out of a bag she pulled out a lovely—and subtle—gray dress with white buttons and blue lining. By the look of the fit, the dress must have belonged to a girl her age, about nine years old. With one last look towards the door to make sure she was alone, Amelia quickly changed, putting the brightly colored dress from the day before back in the bin.
Once again eyeing the security cameras, she peeked around the door and made her way towards the restroom. As she entered, the motion-activated lights flickered on for the first time that day. This always made her a bit nervous, but so far her activities had slipped by unnoticed. She went about her usual routine: lathering up soap, moistening paper towels, splashing her face, rinsing her mouth, and running her fingers through her hair. She always left the bathroom feeling fresh; another perk of living like a princess, and not like the orphan that she was. Although the museum was located in a wealthy part of the city, she often caught glimpses of homelessness on the streets, which even impacted families with children. She felt fortunate to be safely inside, especially during the long, cold winter months.
Truly, the museum gave her the best education she could ever ask for. Entire days were spent soaking up knowledge about art, history, mythology, and the diverse cultures of the world. She taught herself to read by examining the placards in each exhibit and comparing them to all she learned from tagging along with guided tour groups.
After getting ready for the day, Amelia would wait until she heard the intercom speakers announce that the museum was open. She usually gave herself at least another fifteen minutes before venturing out of the restroom to the next stop—food.
This would be the riskiest part of the day. No longer avoiding the cameras, Amelia walked confidently out into the open, briskly heading toward the museum entrance. She would no longer have to avoid people; in the museum, a solitary child appears to be much more suspicious. But she would still remain invisible. As invisible as possible.
Chapter 2
Arthur held his mom’s hand as he crossed the busy street. They had been in the big city for about a week, and he was enjoying the sights and sounds. This place was so different from the rolling hills and countryside that he had grown up in, with small charming shops and farm stands. Here, the sky was barely visible as the buildings stretched toward the clouds, and the businesses felt sleek and corporate. So many interesting people surrounded them that his mom often reminded him to keep looking forward and focus on where he was walking. They had about two more weeks to stay in the city, and they already seemed to have developed a routine. They even kept running into the same people! Arthur hoped that these last two weeks wouldn’t go by too quickly.
Reaching the other side of the street, they entered the coffee shop. It was filled with people bustling about, many wearing very nice clothing as they got their morning coffee before work. Arthur wondered what they did for work and was curious about their fancy outfits. His dad, being a classical musician, often had fancy outfits of many different types, even on a rare occasion coats with tails! He looked around for other children, but never did seem to see them in this coffee shop. He breathed in the smell of coffee and baked goods and listened to the sound of clinking dishes, laughter, and faint piano music.
“Good morning!” said a familiar voice. The man behind the counter was there every morning, ever since the first day they found this coffee shop.
As his mom ordered her drink, Arthur stared at the sweet pastries in the glass, sitting right at his eye level. He knew not to ask for one, as he clutched a paper bag filled with healthy snacks his mom had packed: carrots and hummus, with a sunflower butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. Oh but how he longed for a pastry! If he could, he would choose the one with the swirly icing…
“Anything for the young lad?” The man behind the counter was grinning down at him. Arthur wondered if he would mention his hair like he did the first couple of times they came into the shop. Everyone always wanted to comment on how red his hair was, and sometimes even touch it to his particular annoyance. Arthur wasn’t even sure, however, that his hair even was as “red” as everyone seemed to say. To him, it was many different colors: rusty, gold, and deep copper, like the many colors of fall leaves.
Arthur’s mom looked down at him, noticing his longing gaze: “Would you like a special treat, Arthur? Let’s see...how about one of those perfect bananas? Beautiful. Thank you!”
Figures. Arthur’s mom was an unabashed health nut.
She sipped her green tea as they left the coffee shop. It was a chilly, late autumn day, and Arthur was hit with the cold wind that whipped through the street and between the tall buildings. They still had a bit of a walk until they would arrive at the museum. Arthur’s mom balanced her sketchbook under one arm, holding her tea in the other.
“What are you most looking forward to seeing today?” his mom asked cheerfully, taking his hand with the arm that clutched the sketchbook.
“I am looking forward to…” Arthur thought for a moment, “...seeing something new. Finding something I haven’t found before.”
“That’s nice! Maybe the staff will agree to watch you so that you can explore a little further than you have been allowed to.”
Arthur felt a sense of excitement bubbling up! His mom liked to keep him extra safe at all times—hence this hand-holding along the entire street—but she had been getting to know the staff and it sounded like they were earning her trust. Maybe he’d be able to venture out on his own. Arthur’s mom spent each day sketching a different statue in the museum. She would get so engrossed in her work that she would lose track of how long he’d been waiting for her to take him to other parts of the museum. For a few days in a row she had wanted to sketch statues in the same room. Arthur had probably memorized every piece of art in the vicinity.
They rounded the corner to the street of the museum. The pathway was lined with yellow trees, still holding on to their autumn color for the time being. Arthur watched the pigeons plucking around, dodging the feet of the fast-walking people, trying to find crumbs that may have fallen from the line of food trucks. The city had smells Arthur had never smelled before, and he was in a constant state of discovery.
They walked up the many steps that led to the museum entrance, and Arthur watched clusters of families lounging on the steps, their children running up and down, chasing the birds. Maybe one of these days, if they ate their lunch outside, Arthur would work up the courage to say hi.
They went inside and picked up their tickets for the day. Each day they received a different color sticker, and today’s was blue!
“Alright, Arthur!” proclaimed his mom. “Today we are going to go to the Greek and Roman section. Let’s see if we know the museum staff supervising the rooms today, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Arthur held his breath as they turned the corner. With a smile, he let out a big excited sigh as he saw Pat on the other side of the impressive room filled with gargantuan statues, standing in a connecting entryway between this room and the next, one that Arthur had never been in. They had gotten to know Pat pretty well; Arthur was sure that she would reassure his mom and encourage her to let him explore the museum on his own.
Arthur hung back as his mom went to go talk with Pat. He tried not to look too eager for an answer. He gazed at the expressive face of a sculpture with curly ringlets of hair. He imagined the patience it must have taken for someone to chisel each ringlet out of stone. He was determined to seem patient, thoughtful, and, above all, trustworthy.
Pat took her walkie-talkie off her hip and spoke into it, giving Arthur’s mom a wink. A good sign! Arthur peeked again as Pat left his mom’s side to answer another visitor’s inquiry. His mom caught his eye, giving him a thumbs up as she leaned her sketchbook against the wall. He darted over quickly.
“You can explore the connecting rooms, but don’t let a security guard out of your sight! Pat is alerting the others, so everyone is aware that you’ll be on your own. No going upstairs, and no going toward the entrance. Got it?”
Barely getting a response out, Arthur excitedly started skipping toward the next room.
“Wait one second! Come give your mom a hug. And be sure to come back and check in—and see how my drawing is progressing!”
Arthur gave her a big squeeze. “Got it! Thanks, Mom!”
The world had just opened up much wider. Arthur felt twice his age.
