My sister Lisa and I were in our early twenties. We both still lived in Salt Lake City and spent time together often. One Sunday afternoon we took a trip together to the the downtown library.
Once inside the library, we went our separate ways. I was working part time at an alternative high school and found myself looking through stacks of books for young adults. About an hour later we passed each other going opposite directions on the escalators. Lisa whistled--a quick high note, a quick low note--our secret signal. I went back down again and we started sharing our book finds.
"There's this one book I really want to read, but can't find," Lisa said, holding up a scrap of paper. Written in pencil were the words, Speak, Laurie Halse Anderson. "I read about it on the internet and really want to read it. The computer catalog says it should be here, but it's not on the shelf."
I shifted the stack of books in my hands and pulled a hard back from near the bottom of my pile. It was the very book she was looking for. "How'd you...." Lisa started with a puzzled look.
"I thought it looked good," I shrugged. We both shook our heads in silent amazement. We've always had our brain waves set near the same frequency, I thought, but this is incredible. Of all the books in this five-story building, we both found and decided to read the exact same one.
Ten years later: she's a young adult librarian and I'm a sixth grade teacher. And we swap book recommendations often.