While we’re waiting for dinner, Jamie takes me to his room, and his parents don’t say anything. I wonder if taking random girls upstairs is normal behavior for him. But seeing how awkward Jamie looks when we’re alone and how long it takes him to decide where to sit, I don’t think so.

I look out his window and imagine him watching Michael walk past.

There are binoculars on the windowsill, and when I hold them up, Jamie says, “They’re my dad’s. It’s easier to keep watch…you know…in case anything else happens.”

He’s perched on the edge of his bed, so I sit on his desk chair and quickly wish I hadn’t since it creaks every time I move. I try to stay as still as possible, feeling increasingly nervous and wondering why I agreed to this.

Every time I catch Jamie’s eye, he looks away, and the longer we sit in silence, the more awkward it feels.

Almost every time we’ve seen each other, it’s been too manic to focus on the small stuff. But sitting alone in his room, the small stuff suddenly feels enormous.

His walls are covered with posters of The Umbrella Academy, his bookcase full of graphic novels and figurines.

When he sees me looking, he grins and says, “What do you think?”

It’s not really my thing, but I smile and say, “They’re cool.”

“This is Diego,” Jamie says, holding one of the models up. “He’s my favorite.”

I reach out, but he looks nervous and places it gently back on the shelf.

“So,” Jamie says, “who are we going to follow?”

“Her name’s Clara,” I say. “She goes to Harmony Elementary”

“Cool. What’s the plan?”

“We wait for her to leave school, then I talk to her. That’s all.”

Jamie nods, like this is usual for him. “Can I ask why?”

I tell him about Clara’s phone call and explain why it’s a two-person job. I need his help, because even though we’ve never met, Clara would recognize me in a heartbeat. Plus, if school letting out is anything like St. Anthony’s, it’ll be chaos.

We could leave later, but that would mean hanging around at home or sneaking out of school during lunch. If we go early, that’s one less problem to deal with.

When we’re back downstairs, Jamie’s dad winks at him, quickly losing his smile when he sees me looking.

“Dinner!” his mom shouts, and the floorboards creak, and a boy and a girl appear out of nowhere.

“Hi,” the boy says, just as the girl asks, “Who’s this?”

“It’s no one,” Jamie says, and then, “I mean…it’s Jess. She’s my friend.”