Mateo puts his arm around me and rubs my shoulder.

“It’s not a big deal,” I say automatically.

“That guy was a jackass. He’s not going to bother us again.”

It feels like everyone is watching us now, or I’d burrow into Mateo’s arms for as long as it took to make my embarrassment fade away. I settle for stepping a little closer. It feels strange, though. With all these guards, and with Lisa, there’s something missing.

Paige.

I turn my head. She’s been at my side all day, usually holding my hand. Or holding Mateo’s hand. There’s plenty to look at in this building. Posters and reproductions of Oscar statues and miniature screens playing movies.

I don’t see her.

I stop dead and turn, which messes up the stride of the security guys. “Where is she?” Panic floods my veins. “Where is Paige? She was just here.”

She was with us when we walked into this building. I know she was. She looked up and she said something about the ceiling. Gold on the ceiling, Mom. Look.

“Shit,” Mateo says. “When did you guys see her last?”

“A minute ago,” says the lead guard. “Thirty seconds? She was walking right next to me.

A scream catches in my throat. I want to scream her name, but that’s not what you’re supposed to do when you lose your child. You’re supposed to start announcing what they look like. You’re supposed to do it loudly, so that everyone can help you look. But I don’t trust these people. I don’t want to announce that I’ve lost my daughter. They’d take pictures. They’d make it worse.

One of the guards turns around and runs. Another one takes off in the opposite direction, deeper into the building.

“Lisa,” Mateo says.

“I’m calling now.” She’s brisk, her phone already at her ear.

“What are they doing?”

“Lisa’s calling park security. The others are making sure she doesn’t leave the building.” Mateo’s completely calm. “Paige,” he calls. “Where’d you go?”

He takes me by the arm and we walk back to the entrance. We haven’t been walking very fast. It’s maybe twenty, thirty feet? We start a return trip down the hall. She hides. That’s what Paige does. Jane told me about a time she went out into the woods, upset and alone. My vision tunnels. I can’t breathe. Where is she?

“Paige.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper. “Paige,” I call, louder. “Paige.”

“Hey, Paige,” Mateo says. People are starting to look. I can see them realizing a child is missing. “Blonde, and about this tall,” Mateo says to a concerned-looking woman. “Black T-shirt with a Monopoly card on the front. Have you seen her?”

“I’ll look,” says the woman.