But scattered throughout the room are familiar faces: Tyler’s parents, Mrs. Moskowitz, and several other families who dropped everything to show support.
Sebastian stands at the front of the room, and I watch him make the conscious choice to claim his full height instead of hunching down. His snakes arrange themselves confidently, and his sanctuary effect spreads through the space like warm sunshine.
“Mr. Fangborn,” the mayor announces, “you have ten minutes for your presentation.”
“Thank you.” Sebastian’s voice is clear and strong. “For the past three years, I’ve served as Harmony Glen’s children’s librarian. Today, instead of just telling you about our programs, I’d like to show you what they actually accomplish.”
He clicks to the first slide—not statistics, but a photo of children gathered around him during storytime, faces bright with engagement and wonder.
“Libraries aren’t just repositories for books. They’re community spaces where learning, imagination, and human connection intersect. Our children’s programming doesn’t just teach literacy—it builds confidence, creates safe spaces, and supports families who need them most.”
Then he shows the video testimonials we captured today. Dave speaking about Tyler’s transformation from anxious child to confident presenter. Miss Lee explaining how library programming supplements classroom education. Mrs. Moskowitz describing how Sebastian helped her grandson learn to read when traditional methods failed.
Each testimonial is brief but powerful. Real faces, real voices, real impact.
“Our partnerships with local schools demonstrate this community-building function in action,” Sebastian continues, moving to stand beside the projection screen. “This morning, I participated in Little Dragons Preschool’s educational program—not as an outside visitor, but as an integrated community resource.”
He clicks to the next slide, showing statistics on school-library partnerships and literacy improvement metrics.
“When families face educational challenges, libraries serve as bridges between formal schooling and home learning. We provide consistent resources, supplemental programming, and stable learning environments that complement classroom instruction. This is what sustainable community investment looks like—institutions working together to support student success across multiple settings.”
Mrs. Randall stands abruptly. “While these personal anecdotes are touching, Mr. Fangborn, we need to discuss fiscal responsibility. Entertainment programs are expensive luxuries when basic services need funding.”
“You’re absolutely right about fiscal responsibility,” Sebastian responds calmly. “Which is why I’m pleased to share our impact data.”
The next slides show the statistics I organized—attendance growth, library card registrations, family engagement metrics. But Sebastian doesn’t just recite numbers; he connects each statistic to human outcomes.
“A thirty-seven percent increase in children’s programming attendance translates to thirty-seven percent more families finding community support. Twenty-two percent growth inlibrary card registrations means twenty-two percent more children with access to educational resources.”
He pauses, letting the sanctuary effect strengthen around us. Even Mrs. Randall’s rigid posture softens slightly.
“But beyond the numbers, these programs serve families who need them most. Working parents who rely on safe, educational spaces for their children. Single mothers managing multiple jobs. Children who don’t have other opportunities for enrichment.”
His snakes move with graceful confidence as he gestures toward the families in the audience. This is Sebastian fully embracing his abilities, using every tool at his disposal to fight for what matters.
“Mrs. Randall suggests these are entertainment programs. I respectfully disagree. When a shy child learns to speak up during storytime, that’s education. When a struggling reader discovers books that capture their imagination, that’s literacy development. When a single parent finds a community that supports their family, that’s exactly what public libraries should provide.”
Mrs. Randall’s face has grown progressively redder, but she can’t argue with the chorus of community support.
“Questions?” the mayor asks.
Mrs. Randall tries one last time. “All of this assumes we should prioritize programs that serve… certain demographics over core library services that benefit everyone.”
The coded language hangs in the air like a challenge. Hints of anger leak through Sebastian’s expression, but his voice remains steady.
“Mrs. Randall, every child who learns to love reading benefits themselves and those around them. Every family that finds community support strengthens our entire town. Every program that builds confidence and literacy skills contributes to our collective future.”
He moves to the final slide—a comprehensive chart showing literacy improvement rates across all demographic groups served by children’s programming.
“This is what success looks like. Not just individual stories, but measurable community-wide impact. When we invest in children’s literacy and educational support, we invest in our town’s economic future, social cohesion, and civic engagement.”
The room falls silent. Even Mrs. Randall seems momentarily speechless.
“We’ll deliberate and announce our decision by Friday,” the mayor says finally. “Thank you for a… comprehensive presentation.”
As families file out, many stopping to thank Sebastian personally, I watch him process what just happened. He stoodup, claimed his full power, and fought for what mattered. Whether we win or lose, he’s already won something important.
“How do you think it went?” he asks as we gather our materials.