“We have no choice,” Ema said. “We need to find him.”

We sat there for another moment, staring at that butterfly. I smelled her perfume again and felt a small rush. I looked at her. She looked at me. Our eyes met. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said.

And then my cell phone rang.

Our eye contact broke as though it were a dry twig. Ema looked away. I looked toward the caller ID on my phone. The number was blocked.

“Hello?”

An adult male said, “Is this Mickey Bolitar?”

The voice was grave and serious and maybe there was a small quake of fear in it.

“Yes, this is he,” I said.

“This is Mr. Spindel, Arthur’s father.”

It took me a second to place the name, but when I did, I felt my pulse quicken. I always called Arthur Spindel “Spoon.” His father, the man on the phone, was the head custodian at Kasselton High School—and Spoon’s father.

“Is Spoon okay?” I said quickly.

Mr. Spindel didn’t answer that directly. “Do you know where Emma Beaumont is?”

Emma was Ema. “She’s right next to me.”

“Could you please both come to the hospital?”

“Of course. When?”

“As soon as possible,” Mr. Spindel said, and then he hung up.

CHAPTER 8

Niles drove us to Saint Barnabas Medical Center. He dropped us off at the front door. We sprinted to the reception desk in the lobby.

“Fifth floor,” the receptionist said to us. “The elevator is on your right. Look for the signs for the ICU.”

ICU. Spoon was still in the Intensive Care Unit. I felt my eyes well up, but I forced the tears back down.

We hurried to the elevator. I pressed the button repeatedly, as if that would somehow tell the elevator that we were in a rush. It took too long to arrive. We leapt in and of course three other people did too, all pushing for floors lower than ours. I wanted to yell at them to cut it out.

When we finally reached the fifth floor, Mr. Spindel was waiting for us. He was wearing the beige janitor uniform he wore at school, the words MR. SPINDEL stenciled on the right chest pocket. He was a wiry man with big hands and usually an easygoing way about him. There was no smile now.

“This way,” Mr. Spindel said.

As we followed him, Ema asked, “How is Spoo—I mean, Arthur?”

“No change.”

No change. The words hushed the corridor. When we last saw him, Spoon had no feeling in his legs. He was paralyzed below the waist.

No change.