“It smells like heaven,” Mattie says. She plops down on a green metal bench and lifts her face, closing her eyes and soaking in the smells.

“My mom loves plants.” I think of her plants and then I think of her company that’s all about computers and data and numbers and codes. “She should have become a florist or something. Not a tech person.”

Mattie doesn’t say anything. She strokes a fuzzy green leaf the size of her palm. It’s nice when someone just listens. “What do you want to be?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I want to be someone onstage. An actor? How about a movie star?”

“You could be a juggler.” She giggles.

“I’m pretty good, aren’t I? What do you want to be?”

“I want to be the person who leads you around a museum, telling you about the art or the old maps or whatever. Is that a job?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know, Mattie.” I picture her walking through a museum. “I hope so because you would be good at that. You’re good at explaining things.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to decide yet.”

I stand beside her. A peaceful feeling settles over me like a blanket. The scent, the colors. The green all around us. I feel every inch of my body relaxing, softening. And then a thought fights its way through the warm floral scents filling my brain. I wish I could take this home with me, show Mom.

At last I say, “We gotta get out of here, Mattie,” even though I don’t want to. “Come on.”

We drag ourselves up and slip back out the open door. The fresh air of campus clears our heads as we follow the sidewalk. At the front of the building, a woman in jeans and messy bun rushes past. Before I can stop her, Mattie holds out her arm like someone hailing a taxi. “Where’s the biology building?” she asks the woman. “The Morgan Lecture Hall?”

“Here,” the woman says, pointing at the building.

“But it says Health Science,” Mattie says.

The woman nods. “Everyone calls it the biology building. The lecture hall is in there.”

I feel so stupid. Even though I want to blame the annoying woman in the blue dress, I know it’s not her fault. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Mom’s for liking plants. But at least we’re in the right place now.

Mattie swings the front door open and we torpedo inside. The orange carpet of the hushed entrance dampens the sound of our footsteps. Not a student in sight. Mattie points to the left, where an arrow points to a sign that says MORGAN LECTURE HALL.

Is this it? Are we actually going to find Frank Gómez? “Let’s go.”