The Day Our Library Became a Workshop

I used to think the school library was the quietest place on earth—rows of books, squeaky chairs, and that serious feeling you get when you walk past people studying. So when our English teacher said, “Tomorrow we’re turning the library into a workshop,” I honestly pictured chaos: noise, confusion, and someone spilling water on a book.
But on Wednesday morning, something different happened. The librarians pushed a few tables together, teachers brought markers and sticky notes, and we were told to leave our phones in our backpacks. The goal was simple: work in small groups to create a mini-magazine about school life—sports, events, interviews, even reviews of the cafeteria food. No grades, no tests. Just a deadline and our own ideas.
At first, we sat there like tourists in a foreign country. We didn’t know what to do with our hands, and the silence felt weird without the usual “I’ll just check something” moment. Then Martina started writing a list of possible topics, and someone else added jokes, and suddenly the table looked alive. We split roles naturally: one person interviewed, one person wrote, one person edited, one person designed the layout with scissors and paper like it was 2009 again.
My group decided to interview the janitor, Mr. Bianchi, because we realized we barely knew anything about the people who keep the school running. He laughed when we asked for an interview, then surprised us by telling stories about the building from years ago—floods, snow days, and the time a class adopted a stray cat and tried to hide it under a staircase. While he spoke, we wrote down quotes as fast as we could, and for once, everyone wanted to listen instead of rushing.
The best moment was watching students from different classes help each other without being asked. A boy from the fifth year showed us how to make a clean headline using just a ruler and spacing. Two girls from another class suggested better wording for our introduction. Even Luca—who almost never speaks during lessons—read our draft out loud and pointed out where the story felt confusing. Nobody laughed at him; we actually thanked him.
When the three hours ended, we had a messy table, ink stains, and a finished mini-magazine that wasn’t perfect—but it was ours. Walking out of the library, I realized we had learned something that doesn’t fit neatly in a textbook: how to build something together, how to pay attention, and how to speak up without fear. Maybe tomorrow we’ll go back to normal. But I hope the library remembers that morning—because I will.