One of these was the SMP--Secret Meeting Place, where I and my best friend, both of us insatiable readers and budding writers, escaped from the inanities and tortures of recess. The hill and the bushes were officially off limits. But we learned how to sneak up there with our books, rain or shine. The leaves kept out a lot of rain.
What joy. What simple joy.
It didn't last.
One day, we were betrayed by a sharp-eyed classmate. I still remember the playground teacher blowing her whistle, shouting at us to come down. As readers of many books of adventure, we had formulated an escape plan.
Out of the SMP we ran, darting from bush to bush, sliding down behind the cover of the portables. My friend went one way and I another. Our agreed on rendesvous after such a catastrophe--a nook in the library, off course!
And there we met ten minutes later, scared by our discoveyr and narrow escape, but jubilant, too. We were safe, in the library. With books, where we belonged.