I froze, steps from the hallway that led to the meeting rooms, wishing Kennedy were there. Those days we’d looked for him, I’d been okay thinking of this moment because my cousin had been with me. I’d never expected to face him alone.

I took a step toward camp, not wanting to do it. But then I took out my phone and casually snapped a picture. I texted it to Kennedy, moving between two stacks, biting my nails until she replied.

KENNEDY

NO FREAKING WAY! IS THAT HIM????????????????

TESS

yes

in the library

what do I do?

Ask him if he’s Billy, ovbs!

So weird tho . . . like just walk up to this old man and ask if his name is Billy?

OF COURSE

THAT WAS ALWAYS THE PLAN

Do it

Tell me what happens

Kennedy’s braver than you. She’d already be over there.

Frankie would, too.

But here you are, frozen like an iceberg, worthless.

Shaking my head, I checked the clock high on the wall: I was so late. Just then, the alarm went silent. My ears rang. The man didn’t react to the silence either, and I wondered if he was deaf.

Only one way to find out.

I put my phone in my pocket, adjusted my backpack, and walked toward him. When I was just a few steps away, he noticed me, his cloudy gray eyes snapping suddenly to my face.

I wanted to run.

His spotty hands were on the table, like he was ready to type on an invisible keyboard. Once he saw me, with every step I took toward him, he tapped his right index finger on the table. I was desperate to flee, but I thought of Kennedy’s and Frankie’s braveness and pretended it was mine.

The old man stopped tapping when I stopped walking.

“Hi,” I choked out before clearing my throat. “I’m Tess.”

“Hello,” he said, his voice higher than I thought it’d be. I hugged myself, holding my elbows, as he asked, “Is it time?”

“Um,” I said, digging my fingertips into my pokey elbow bones. “It’s nine thirty?”

“Is it time?” he asked again, his right hand shaking slightly.

“I don’t know,” I said, looking to see who was around, expecting the library to have cleared like it was the apocalypse. Instead, a mom read to her child, two high schoolers giggled near the computers, and an older woman pushed a book-filled cart. I turned back to the man. “Is your name . . . Are you Billy?”

After a long pause, he said, “William Longley.” His eyes shifted to a spot over my shoulder. “Originally from Old Evergreen, Texas.”

A shiver ran up my body; I dug so hard into the soft part around my elbow bones with my now-freezing hands, I sent painful shocks into my shoulders.

“Do you have something to tell me?” I made myself ask. I had to know.