“Sure we can. It’s right in the book.” He waved the instructions at her. Of course, they didn’t have his date of birth, but Wade Sibley was an unusual name, they knew Mr. Sibley was twenty-two in 1959, and a decent computer program would accept parameters.

“It’s sly,” she said. “It’s sneaky. It’s peeking into his life where we have no business looking.”

“No, it isn’t. This is public information. We’re the public.”

“But he isn’t public, Aus. Anyway, why would we want his driving history?”

“We want something! We don’t have anything. He’s the only person who knows what really happened, so if you truly want to find out, Mace, you have to find Mr. Sibley. It says his driving history will include his social security number. I don’t know much, but I know that with a social security number, you can really zip into people’s private lives.”

They were very close, but not touching. Air space ran from their shoulders to their thighs to their ankles. Austin looked down at the air space. The more he looked, the more important it got. He shifted over to fill the inch. She looked at him. The angle was awkward, so he slumped down until their noses were even. Very lightly, he touched the tip of her nose with the tip of his. Very lightly, she pressed her cheek against his.

For a moment, his entire world was skin against skin.

But this was high school, where nothing was private, and in any case, they had not chosen a private location. “Go, Aus!” said one of his friends, kicking the sole of Austin’s shoe. From farther down the line of hall sitters came a long high whistle.

Macey pulled back, as he had known she would. Acting as if nothing had happened, she dragged her purse onto her lap, where Austin would have liked to be, and took out a plastic bag. She gave Austin two of what might have been the world’s best chocolate chip oatmeal raisin cookies, although he personally preferred them without the oatmeal and the raisins.

“Aus, it isn’t Mr. Sibley’s private life I want to zip into. It’s the fire.”

He was on fire himself. Only a week ago, he had been sure of a lot of things, and now he was sure of nothing, except that all time spent with Macey was good time.

“People burned his house down around him, Aus,” said Macey, nibbling around the edge of her cookie as if it were an ear of corn. “I can’t be the next generation and pry around the edges of his life, like some second burn.”

“You aren’t prying,” said Austin. “You’re trying to find the guy. This is a legal and businesslike approach.”