I turn back to the window, the man outside.

Trace gasps under Rhys. “We’re wasting time—”

“He’s not moving, Trace—”

“Are you sure it’s him?” I ask.

“Who else would it be? I have to go out there—I have to get him—”

“No!” Grace says. “You are not going out there. You can’t—” And Trace says, Grace, it’s Dad, I know it is, I saw him, we have to get him because he believes this. He’s fevered with it. It’s his father out there because it can be no one else.

And she’s saying, “No, you can’t. You can’t leave me—”

She repeats this over his insistence he has to go outside and the more she says it, it’s like the more she believes he will leave her until she’s crying so hard she’s hyperventilating. Trace tries to reach for her, but he can’t unless Rhys gets off him. When Rhys does, Trace holds Grace and she sobs all over his shirt. He holds her and stares at me, at the window beyond me, trying to soothe her and figure this out at the same time. Then his eyes spark. He turns to Cary.

“You go out there and get him.”

Cary stares. “What?”

“It’s your fault he’s out there. Go out there and bring him back in.”

“Go out there yourself—”

“I’m not leaving Grace,” Trace says. “This is your fault, so you do it.”

“I am not dying for you,” Cary says through his teeth. “And fuck you for asking me—that guy out there? Whoever he is? He’s dead.”

Cary storms down the hall. It must be awful to find out your life is worth nothing to someone else. I want to tell Cary he’s not worthless. Harrison probably needs him. Rhys stares at Trace, disgusted, but Trace doesn’t care. He closes his eyes and leans his cheek against Grace’s head. He has no other options.

“Grace, I have to do it.”

“No. No.”

He breathes in and tightens his grip on her.

“It’s him. I know it is.”

I get that feeling again. That ache to have what Trace and Grace have, along with the sharp reminder that I don’t. The parking lot is still empty save for the man on the ground. Trace’s words echo in my head we have to bring him back in and I don’t know why they do until it hits me and I finally understand them for what they really are: an out.

“I’ll do it,” I hear myself saying. “I’ll go.”

I stop at my locker for my letter to Lily and tuck it carefully in my pocket. I have this insane fantasy where my sister comes across my body on the ground or walking around and she finds the note on me and reads the note and it kills her.

When I get to the library, Cary is actually helping Trace with the door, which is unreal to me. Blood is crusted under Cary’s nose. Trace is shaky, vibrating with the possibility of his father being out there, dead or alive. I watch him closely, looking for some indication he knows it can’t really be Mr. Casper. There are none. His heart will hold on to it until he knows for sure.