Middle schoolers are a specific kind of human. They are simultaneously the most earnest and the most performatively indifferent people on the planet. They will die of embarrassment if you compliment their book choice in front of their friends, and then come back the next day alone to tell you they loved it and need another exactly like it. They contain multitudes. They are exhausting. They are extraordinary.

After careful observation in the middle school library this last three years, in a purely unscientific and absolutely subjective fashion, I have compiled the following field guide.

The Inspector

Arrives. Makes a full, purposeful lap of the stacks. Touches nothing. Leaves.

You will never fully understand what they are looking for. You will never know if they found it. Do not interfere with the process.

The Mayor

Knows everyone. Has opinions about everything. Has not checked out a book since October but has recommended seventeen of them to other students with great authority and surprising accuracy.

Do not underestimate the Mayor. The Mayor is doing important work.

The Whisperer

Comes in alone. Hovers near the section they want without quite committing to it. Waits until the coast is clear. Selects a book with the speed and precision of a trained operative. Tucks it under their arm cover-side in.

This reader had picked something that matters deeply and they are not ready to discuss it with anyone. Respect this completely.

The Enthusiast

Has finished the book. Has THOUGHTS. Is here to share every single one of them with you right now, immediately, before they explode.

Clear your schedule. This is the best part of your day.

The Reluctant Visitor

Was sent here by a teacher. Is not happy about it. Stands near the door with the energy of someone who has been wrongly convicted of a crime and is waiting for the appeals process to conclude.

Give them ten minutes and the right book and they will forget they arrived under duress.

The Researcher

Has a project due. The project was assigned three weeks ago. It is due in forty minutes.

They are not panicking. You have finally learned not to panic on their behalf. It’s OK to tell them this. #lifelesson

The Regular

Here every day. The library is their place. You don’t need to know why. You just need to make sure it’s always there.

The Negotiator

The book they wants is checked out. They would like to discuss this. They have counteroffers. They want you to look up the deadbeat who has it checked out and hasn’t returned it yet, never mind it isn’t overdue. The Negotiator is prepared to make concessions but needs you to understand that this is not acceptable and something must be done.

They are going to be extraordinary at whatever they do in life. You just hope they use their power for good.

The Phantom

You see The Phantom every day. You think. They have never checked out a book. They appear to materialize from nowhere and return to nowhere. The circulation system contains no record of their existence.

And yet. There they are. Every day. Something is happening here and it is important, even if you can’t quantify it. All you can do is be there for them.

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You will not find these categories in any library science textbook. No assessment will measure them. No data dashboard will capture the moment the Reluctant Visitor picks up a book and forgets to be reluctant, or the day the Whisperer finally lets you see the cover.

But this is the work. The Mayors and the Phantoms and the Researchers in crisis and the Enthusiasts who need someone to listen — they are our purpose.

I would not trade a single one of them.

Even the Negotiator.

Especially the Negotiator.

Dog-Eared & Overdue is written by a middle school librarian in northern New York who has met every single one of these kids and is usually delighted by all of them.

Thanks to Karin Martinez for the featured photo, taken in Syracuse.