He gave me a quizzical look, and I nodded. “It’s me,” I said.

“You made this,” he said, a declaration.

“I made it, and I hung them up, and I’m still hanging them up.” It was such a strange sensation, to admit this. I’d thought I would go my whole life not telling anyone. I’d told so easily. Well, I mean, I had almost died and the boy I loved had broken my arm, but still. I had been dying to tell someone, I now realized.

“That’s . . . that’s absolutely lovely.”

“Really?” I asked.

“This is so strange, but please tell me your name again. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard it.”

“Frankie,” I said.

“Oh, lovely. Frankie, you are the first person in this town who has surprised me. In the span of about two minutes, you have done the two most surprising things I have ever seen in Coalfield.”

What a strange thing to say to a teenager who had almost died, either by accident or on purpose, but it filled me with such gratitude.

“My mom,” I sputtered. “The ambulance . . . I can’t let anyone find these.”

“Oh, no. Okay, I see what you mean.”

“My arm is broken,” I said.

“It is, very badly,” he admitted. He reached through the window and picked up a few of the posters that were near me. Then he went around to the passenger side and collected all of them. He was stuffing them into the backpack, and I could hear the ambulance.

“They’re really close,” I said.

“I’ve got them, almost,” he called out. “Okay, I’ve got them—oh, there’s one more under the seat. Okay, I have them all.”

“Can you keep them for me? Hide them?”

“Oh, yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll hide them. It’s our secret. It’s—oh god, tell me your name one more time.”

“Frankie,” I said. The ambulance was so close.

“Frankie, I will never tell a single soul. Do not worry.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Don’t die, Frankie,” he said. “If you died, I think I’d have to tell someone.”

“I’m not going to,” I said, and I must have sounded disappointed.

“You are going to have such an amazing life, Frankie,” he told me. “If this is how it starts? It’s almost breathtaking how good your life will be.”

“I think I’m a bad person,” I said.

“No,” he said, and I thought he might say more, but then the paramedics were running up to my car, shouting things, and Mr. Avery vanished from sight. And I never spoke to him again. But sometimes, when I think, for the millionth time, that I’m a bad person, I can still hear his voice, that single word, No, and even if I don’t entirely believe him, it’s saved me so many times.