I race upstairs and back into the hotel room to wake Bailey—the one person who maybe has heard the story about this professor more times than I have.

I pull the comforter off and sit down on the edge of her bed.

“I’m sleeping,” she says.

“Not anymore,” I say.

She reluctantly props herself up against the headboard. “What is it?”

“Do you remember the name of your father’s professor? The one he loved so much, who taught him freshman year?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says.

I fight my impatience, thinking of all the times Bailey has rolled her eyes at this story—at how Owen has used it as a teaching opportunity. He’s used it to convince Bailey to stick with something that matters to her, to commit to her plan. He’s used it when he was trying to convince her of the opposite.

“You know this story, Bailey. The professor taught that impossible course in gauge theory and global analysis. Your father loves talking about him. The professor who told him that he was the worst student he’d ever had. And how that actually made Owen want to do better. How it focused him?”

Bailey starts nodding, a slow recognition. “You mean the guy who put my father’s midterm on the bulletin board, right…?” she says. “So he wouldn’t forget all the ways he could improve.”

“Exactly, yes!”

“Sometimes your passion takes work and you shouldn’t give up on it just because it isn’t easy…” She takes on Owen’s voice, imitating him. “Sometimes, kid, you need to work harder to get to a better place.”

“That’s it. Yes. That’s him. I think his first name was Tobias but I need to know his full name. Please tell me you remember it.”

“Why?” she says.

“Just, can you remember it, Bailey?”

“He called him by his last name sometimes. A nickname for his last name. But it started with a J… didn’t it?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“No, I don’t think that was it… It was Cook… He called him Cook. So maybe it was Cooker?” she says. “Or was it Cookman?”

I smile, almost laughing out loud. She’s right. I know it as soon as I hear it. It’s good to know I wasn’t even close.

“What’s so funny?” she says. “You’re freaking me out.”

“Nothing, that’s great. That’s what I needed to know,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”

“I don’t want to,” she says. “Tell me what you figured out.”

I open my phone and I plug his name into the search engine. How many professors with the name Tobias Cookman could there be who teach college-level mathematics? And more specifically gauge theory and global analysis?