Ann Hodgman

A little family, a buried secret, and a babysitter who doesn’t just watch over kids—she guards their hours when the world flickers with things that go bump and blink in the corner of the eye. When a bedtime story turns into a dare, the days are easy and the nights become a test: can trust hold steady when the room smells of citrus and something ancient stirs beneath the floorboards? The girl next door wants to prove she’s brave; the babysitter shows that courage can be quiet, practical, and a little bit magical in the exact moments when you need it most.

The hallway hums with the late-afternoon chatter of lockers and math worksheets, and Lena Park is listening for more than the usual clatter. A rumor slides through the fifth-grade wing—the kind of rumor that arrives with half a dare and the other half a dare to believe it. When a stray, scaly glint shows up in a janitor’s closet after lunch, Lena follows the glimmer into a stairwell that smells like old books and rain. The creature is not a menace so much as a misfit, pacing the concrete like it’s trying to remember how to be afraid. It craves a friend, not a fight; it’s hungry for belonging, not for conquest. Lena realizes the monsters aren’t always larger than life—they can be small enough to fit in a desk drawer and loud enough to spill secrets across a classroom floor. As the truth fattens with each whispered rumor, Lena must choose whether to trap the unknown or invite it to stay, to study it, to understand it, and to tell the truth when a classroom’s safety hinges on who’s brave enough to speak up. In a place where uniforms hide more than colors and chorus voices mask quiet fears, Lena’s courage will reshape what it means to grow up among monsters who are, in fact, kids just trying to be seen.