Why did Frank Gómez write a poem about his daughters? Why did he put it in some myth book that no one would ever read? Why didn’t he write it and send it in an email? Or even on paper, in an envelope? Why didn’t he say these words to us in person?

I rub my eyes with clenched fists. Too much dust. I slam the book shut. The sound echoes in the quiet library. “We have to go.”

Mattie nods but doesn’t move.

“Now.”

“I know.” Mattie stands up, tears in her eyes. She nods, wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Gross.

“If we want answers, we have to find him.”

“I know, I know. I’m coming.” She slings on her backpack and then picks up The Seed Sower. The animals and shapes appear and disappear on the cover. “It’s just so beautiful,” she sighs. She hugs the book to her chest. She sniffles. One tear slips down her cheek.

I glance around. The reading room is cleared out; only one student sits at a table in the back. Patricia Piper, with her weird clothes and funny hair, is nowhere to be seen. I unclench my fists and make a choice.

“Put it in your backpack,” I say, nodding at the book.

CHAPTER 29 Mattie

As we hurry across the Quad, I feel like every student reading and talking and juggling can tell that I’m a thief. Even though The Seed Sower isn’t very heavy, my backpack weighs on my back, making my shoulders ache. Or maybe it’s just the guilt.

I’ve never stolen anything in my life. Not a toy from day care, not a candy bar at a gas station, not a pen from a teacher, not even a sugar pack from a restaurant. (Okay, I borrowed Kenny’s pocketknife, but I returned it the very next day.) I imagine how the person would feel, knowing someone stole from them, and that stops me. Because I know how bad I would feel if I were missing something, if someone took something of mine.

But The Seed Sower is like a magnet and I’m the fridge. It won’t let go of me and I can’t let go of it. If it were an ordinary book, I would just write down the title and get my own copy. But Patricia Piper said it wasn’t the kind of book you could get in the United States. Not anywhere in this whole country. And it was written by Francisco Gómez. And it has a poem. A poem, I’m certain, he wrote for me. For me and Mercedes. So it’s my poem, and the poem is in the book, and doesn’t that kind of make the book mine?