“People say you do a lot more than tag along.”

He shrugged. “Coach Barrett lets me help with strategy sometimes. Lets me come to games. He says we’re a lot alike, him and me. Survivors. Why the interest?”

You and Connor’s dad are not “survivors,” I thought, but didn’t say it. “I have this photo project. I’d like to take pictures of the team,” I said.

Sheffield nodded, tilted his head to the side like it deserved careful consideration. Didn’t answer right away.

Look at his face and you’d see an angel. I knew there was more behind his perfect facade.

“There’s a party,” he said. “Most of the guys will be there. Come hang out with us, and we can talk about it.”

I frowned. “Can’t I just come to the next practice? Or a game? When everyone’s together?”

“You’re asking for a lot,” he said. “I’m happy to help you out, but I can’t just make people trust you.”

I thought of Bobby, flinching. Furious with me for daring to make eye contact.

“Fine,” I said.

“I’ll text you the information. Give me your number.” He leaned closer when he said it, made his smile slimier.

The idea of him having my number made me instantly queasy.

“DM me,” I said. “I follow you on—”

“Your number,” he said. “That way I can call you, if I need to.”

“Fine,” I said, and gave it to him.

Later, I reached into my pocket to pull out my phone, and almost burned myself on something.

Solomon’s trained penny. It was hot, way hotter than it should have been just from sitting in my pocket.

I held it, and I could see him. Not like some blinding vision or waking dream— This was so clear it could have been a memory, except I was pretty sure I had never seen it before. A shabby little hut under a very big bridge. Solomon, staring into my eyes.

I headed for the classroom where he was supposed to be. Of course he wasn’t there—but Mr. Taglia was, speaking to the teacher. I waited in the doorway.

“You’re looking for him too,” Taglia said to me, on his way out.

“Yeah. Is this about Child Protective Services?”

He frowned, and rubbed his beard. “They sent someone. She’s in my office now. And that’s the last step, before they send the police to do what they call a ‘wellness check.’ So if you see him, or talk to him, you have to get him to come in and meet with a caseworker. You know how cops are, in this town. And if Solomon gets an attitude with them . . .”

Mr. Taglia didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. I could think up plenty of nightmare worst-case scenarios on my own.