I nod and try to smile, but my mouth wobbles.

Mom is clearly worried. “Maybe you and Skylar should stay with her mom today.”

“Mom, I’m fine. Honest.”

“I hate to see you go through this.” She hugs me so tight I can hardly breathe. “I know how much you liked Ms. Sullivan. I was so impressed with her at PTA. A lovely woman. And a very talented artist.” She kisses the tears on my cheeks and steps back to look at me.

“If you change your mind, call me. I’ll come straight home.” She goes to the door. “Please stay close to home today. I’ll be worried until the killer’s in jail.”

After the door closes behind Mom, the house is so quiet I can hear the tick of the mantel clock in the living room. I slump on the couch and stare at the wall. There’s nowhere I want to go, nothing I want to do. All I can think of is Ms. Sullivan walking across the field, wearing her pretty dress, her silly straw hat, her dark glasses. My teacher, my teacher. I start crying again.

Skylar sits beside me and puts her arms around me. I rest my head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I just can’t stop crying. I liked her so much.”

“Even though she wasn’t my teacher and I didn’t know her like you did, I’m really sad too,” Skylar says. “She was so nice at the mall. She even remembered me in Bye Bye Birdie.”

We hug each other and sit together until I stop crying. Skylar brings me a glass of water and I drink it down in gulps that make me feel sick. “What should we do about Mr. Boyce?” she asks.

“We have to talk to him,” I say. “He’ll tell us the right thing to do. Then maybe I can stop thinking about it all the time. I’m going crazy.”

“Should we just go to his house?” Skylar asks. “Or should we call him first?”

“It would be rude to show up at his house without any warning,” I say. It’s like hearing my mother’s voice come out of my mouth.

We look his number up online, but neither one of us wants to pick up the phone. Kids don’t call their teachers. He might be busy or something. He might not understand why we’re calling him. He might get mad. His wife might answer.

We probably spend half an hour thinking we should call, then thinking we shouldn’t. Finally, we flip a quarter. I lose.

His phone rings once. I hang up and hand the phone to Skylar. “I can’t do it. You do it.”

She takes the phone and calls again. His phone rings and rings for a long time. There’s no way to leave a message.