He pauses. “Don’t forget. You’re very young and you have no evidence. The police might suspect you’re making it all up just to get your names and faces on the news.”

From the way he looks at Skylar and me, it seems as if Mr. Boyce might think the same thing himself. After a whole year in his class, he must know us better than that. Tears prick my eyes and I turn my head to hide them. I don’t want his tissues. I don’t want anything from him.

Reaching for his coffee cup, he adds, “My advice is to forget about solving crimes à la Nancy Drew and focus on important things—like your summer reading list.” He tries for a big, friendly grin, but his eyes aren’t smiling.

“You sound like a teacher,” Skylar says.

Mr. Boyce laughs, but Skylar isn’t trying to be funny. Like me, she’s annoyed by his mention of Nancy Drew. I thought he took kids seriously, but here he is talking down to us the way most adults do.

While I’m fuming to myself, Mr. Boyce refills his cup. He doesn’t offer Skylar and me a cold drink even though it’s hotter today than it was yesterday and the two of us are just as sweaty. He stands there drinking his coffee and looking like he wishes we’d leave.

Just as I’m about to grab Skylar and head out the door, I notice an art book on a small table near me. It’s the very same one I’d seen in the gray car.

I hold it up so Mr. Boyce can see it. “I saw this book in Ms. Sullivan’s car.”

Mr. Boyce takes it. “Kris and I used to talk about art in the faculty lounge. She recommended it, so I bought my own copy.”

He opens the book and turns the pages slowly. His face is sadder than sad, and I feel like hugging him and saying I’m sad, too. We all are.

But we can’t hug teachers, and they can’t hug us, especially men teachers.

In fact, now that I think about it, Skylar and I shouldn’t even be in Mr. Boyce’s house. He’d be in trouble if anyone found out.

Skylar nudges me. “We ought to go.”

Mr. Boyce looks up from the pages. “Please don’t bother the police with those pictures. They’ve already got enough on their hands without a couple of would-be girl detectives bothering them.”

I’m insulted all over again. Without even saying goodbye, I follow Skylar outside. She looks down the driveway. At the end is Mr. Boyce’s Mini Cooper, the car he drives to school every day. We see him sometimes while we’re waiting for the bus. He always smiles and gives us a thumbs-up for the day ahead of us.