The old cement hall rang with the calls of elated fangirls, driven into throes of ecstasy by $10 dvds of Yami no Matsuei, the shimmy-whisper of plastic bags loaded with loot, and the dull thud of the army of otaku trudging along through a paradise dripping with plastic-wrapped accoutrements. Somewhere inside this den of desire sat a modest booth, its plywood walls painted enticing yellows and reds, its front open and welcoming to suitors seeking its wares. Jutting like a snaggletooth in the mouth of the booth was the information table. Where I am sitting.
But the entirety of my attention was focused behind me, in the racks of books. I picture them in my mind—neatly stacked and eager for an owner. Look at the poor little things, wide-eyed and bushy tailed and helpless. Books can’t walk, they can’t whine when they’re hungry, and they can’t give you drippy wet eyes that melt your heart. Supposedly. I was feeling hundreds of wet drippy stares on my back right then.

Then it happens. I realize the first of my babies is back there—Bird Kiss. My heart starts to flutter a bit. She’s not the strongest of the children. She’s pretty weak, actually. In terms of Darwinian survival, she’s on the short list of Most Likely to Die Under a Rock.