“According to the map, Madrone Hall is across the road.” Mercedes has her rumpled campus map in her hand. “We can cut through that building.” She points across the lawn.

She’s so certain, I let her lead the way—which turns out to be a very bad idea.

The building we’ve entered isn’t a shortcut at all because we immediately get lost. There are dead-end corridors and half staircases with locked doors at the tops and bottoms. We keep circling back to a small, empty waiting room near a door marked ADMISSIONS. Each time we take a different turn but end up in the same place. The same blue and orange chairs. The same rack of brochures. The same reception desk that has a sign that says PLEASE RING BELL FOR SERVICE.

“We’re going to have to ask someone for help,” I whisper. I already know that Mercedes is not the kind of person who likes to ask anyone for anything. “Or go back the way we came.”

“Let’s try this door.” She turns the knob of a door marked NO ADMITTANCE.

Before I can stop her, we’re in a small office. Walkie-talkies hang from a pegboard. There’s a desk. Three telephones. A bowl of yellow butterscotch candies that remind me that I didn’t eat my lunch. And on the wall behind the desk is a campus map—like the one we have but more detailed.

“Now what?” I say.

“Now we—”

I can feel him behind me even before I turn around. When I do, I see a walkie-talkie clipped to a belt. A shiny name badge clipped to a crisp white shirt that says, Darryl, Northern Madrone College Campus Security.

“Can I help you?”

The man has a thick mustache. His cheeks are red and he’s very, very tall.

Mercedes slowly retreats. “We’re just, uh, looking for our, uh, cousin.”

Even I can tell that’s a terrible lie. I back up.

“We’ll be going now,” she says.

“Hold on, girls.” Darryl pulls a notepad from his pocket. “Names?”

“You—you don’t need our names,” Mercedes says. “We’re leaving. Sorry to disturb.”

“Sit.” He points at a row of three wooden, straight-backed chairs.

There’s something about the way he says it that makes me nervous. And makes Mercedes obey. We sit.

“Who are you here to visit?”

“Um,” says Mercedes.

“You’re not runaways from the Poppy View field trip, are you?” The security guard’s bushy eyebrows scrunch together. “You wouldn’t be the first.” He unhooks the walkie-talkie from his belt. “I can notify the teachers in two seconds.” He sounds like he would actually like to get us in trouble. “Ask if they’re missing two girls?”

Black spots appear in front of my eyes. There’s a faint buzzing in my ears. A migraine? A panic attack? Panic episode, I hear my mom say.