“I meant every word, Rowan. It’s just nice to write it down, and you can go back and reread it. If you’re ever doubting your skills.”

“Thanks. I mean it, really.”

“Have your mom and dad read it yet?”

“No, you know. She’s busy with work and all, and not much of a reader, and well—”

“Oh, yes. That’s right. Your dad. He’s away lately, isn’t he? But I’m sure he’d love it, Rowan. He really would.”

“It’s hard to reach him.” I’d called him six times at the garage the day before, and Telly’s boss kept saying he was occupied. Finally he told me not to call again, said I was getting worse than my mother.

“Well, why don’t you pop out there and surprise him? He’s got to take a lunch break, right? And the bus passes right by his garage out on Wendell’s Road.”

I scratched at the white spot underneath my eye. “I mean. I could, right? I could do that.”

“Of course you could. He’s your dad, and he loves you.” She clasped her hands together. “Now, a quick question. Would you mind if I took a copy of your story and submitted it to a contest for young writers? The theme this year is suspense, and you’ve certainly demonstrated an aptitude for it.”

“Sure,” I said. “But don’t get your hopes up, Mrs. Spooner.”

“Too late. Already up.” She took the papers from my hand and rushed away to the library office.

I waited for her by the glass front doors. A man was coming across the parking lot with a little boy and a bagful of books. I opened the door for them, and as they walked past my stomach knotted up. I didn’t know why the thought of seeing Telly made me so nervous.

Mrs. Spooner rushed toward me. “Sorry, sorry. Lineup at the photocopier.” She gave me back my story, then turned her wrist and tapped her watch. “And that bus leaves in seven minutes, Rowan. If you want to catch it to see your dad.”

—

The brakes on the bus groaned to a halt near Telly’s work. I walked up the aisle, slapping the back of the seats, and stepped down onto the asphalt. Heat rippled up around my legs. My mouth tasted sour. What if this wasn’t a good surprise? What if he didn’t want to see me? Of course he’d want to see me. Even Mrs. Spooner said so.