It seems he’s about to say something else, but a car pulls up and the other kid jumps from his swing and comes running over, Harvey right behind him, his mustache slipped to one side, and Ned excuses himself to go speak to the other parent, the kind of woman Shelley admires and also feels intimidated by—a “business casual” look, they call it, hands on her hips with great confidence, a sticker on her window that says she belongs somewhere. She sweeps her son into her arms and gives him a big kiss, while two other kids in the back seat watch a movie on a pull-down screen. She has a vanity plate that says mom’s car, with a heart, and probably she parks it beside one that says dad’s car.

Shelley is trying to imagine what that would even feel like when Harvey plops down beside her, his thin legs scratched and covered in bugbites.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Should you be?”

“No,” he says, and presses his nose into her arm. When the woman drives away and Ned Stone walks back over, Shelley reaches in her pocket for the matchbook and note and holds it out for them both to see.

“Thanks for my note, Harvey,” she says, and he tells her he has lots more of those. “A whole collection,” he says, and looks at his teacher. “Another collection.”

“I’ve never heard of the Lorraine Hotel,” she says, and Ned tells her that’s because it was torn down years ago.

“You’d have to go back in time to stay at the Lorraine Hotel,” he tells Harvey, who grabs his hands and begins pulling him.

“Let’s go. Let’s go right now.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” he says, a steady calm hand on Harvey’s shoulder. “But right now, your mom is waiting for you.” He gives Harvey a gentle push toward her and then says goodbye.

“Thank you,” Shelley tells him, and watches Harvey run ahead and climb in the back seat, relieved to know that she does not have to go back in time.

Harvey

As soon as he gets home, Harvey gets his cape and his Fu Manchu and goes out in the yard with Peggy to see if the ghost left a note or more good stuff. He doesn’t even get a snack. He’s searching the ground for tracks and turds when he sees the ghost, all bent over, kicking and digging at the manhole. Jason said Harvey should never, ever go down that hole, even if it does look like the Ninja Turtle’s, because it isn’t safe. “They leave you stuff to keep you away,” Jason had told him. “As long as you don’t do something stupid, they won’t hurt you.”

“Hey there,” the ghost says, and holds a piece of paper up. “Is this yours?”

Are you hear? Harvey wrote that, and somebody wrote, NO!