I speed up, but she speeds up too, then I feel her hand on my back. I manage to slow down, but I can barely look at her. Did I really think this girl was a sign? She’s beautiful, but she’s just a girl. She doesn’t hold any more answers than my Internet searches. What was I thinking?

I literally tower over her, but she’s looking at me with so much intensity, it makes her seem like she’s at least as tall as I am. She’s out of breath. “Mason, I still need to give you your notebook.”

My notebook. Relief washes over me, so fast and heavy, I nearly crumple. I search her arms, but my star log isn’t hidden in the tangle of book and papers.

“Where is it?” My voice is more intense than I mean for it to be.

“At the hotel. I picked it up. When you dropped it. And I, ah…” She looks away. “I read some of it. I’m sorry.”

She read it? My face goes hot, something exploding in my chest. My notebook is private; the thought of someone reading it is basically the equivalent of me walking into a packed train station completely naked. I’ve written about foster care changes, the times I ran away, nights I stayed up crying. She really picked up my notebook and read it? I study her guilty face for a moment.

“How much?” I manage.

“Not much,” she says quickly, but she looks away again in a way that lets me know she’s lying. Now her face is red. “I shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry. Some of it seemed… personal. Once I realized that…” She trails off, then takes a deep breath, meeting my eyes.

I have to keep it together.

I stare hard at the ground, trying to retain my gravity. “It’s called a star log. I keep track of what I see in the sky. But lately it’s also become my everything notebook. And it’s really, really important that I get it back.”

She takes a deep breath, and I can’t read her expression. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll bring it to you tomorrow. When we go on the tour.”

She still wants to go on the tour? After this? I take my own deep breath, attempting to steady myself. When I meet her gaze, her eyes are clear. I hate that she’s read my notebook, but she doesn’t seem like someone who would use any of it against me. She’s going to give it back.

She runs her toe along the cement, then looks back toward the house. “So there’s a painting that looks like me in there?”

Right. I take a deep breath, the tightness in my chest easing slightly. I even manage to look up a little. “Yeah. She has your hair color, eyes, everything.”