“I’m going this time,” Ema said. “I want Jared to look me in the eye and say it was no big thing.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“We leave in the morning?”

I nodded again.

“What else?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

Ema just frowned. “Aren’t we past that, Mickey?”

She had a point. “We are,” I said.

“So?”

“It’s about Troy.”

Ema sighed. “Are you still trying to prove he didn’t do steroids?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I think he was set up.”

“By?”

“By Buck.”

Ema shook her head.

“What?” I said.

“Buck doesn’t put ketchup on his French fries without asking Troy first.”

“Buck’s brother might have been involved.”

“How?”

I filled her in on what I’d learned so far. We kept walking. We reached the road where Ema would—before I knew the truth about where she lived and who her mother was—peel off and walk on her own.

“So that’s what you’re doing now?” Ema asked, when I finished. “You and Troy are going to break into this shed.”

“I could use help,” I said.

“Me?”

“Sure.”

Ema shook her head. “No.”

“Why not? This is what we do, Ema. We help people.”

“I don’t want to help Troy Taylor.”

“But this could lead to the truth.”

“I don’t care, Mickey. You don’t get it. He’s been cruel to me my whole life.”

“Okay, then,” I said.

“Okay what?”

“I won’t help him either.”

“Oh no,” Ema said. “You don’t get to put that on me.”

I stopped. We turned and looked at each other. I was far taller, so she tilted her head up. I knew that it was maybe wrong to think this, but she looked so vulnerable, gazing up at me. Young and innocent, and the idea that those eyes would see something that would hurt her made my heart ache.

Darkness had set in. Her face glowed in the moonlight.

I wanted to protect her. I wanted to protect her always.

“People change, Ema.”

She blinked and looked away. “I don’t think so, Mickey.” Ema took a step back and started toward the woods to the right. “I’m going home,” she said. “Don’t follow me.”

“You’re really not going to help me?”

“I’m really not going to help you,” she said. “But, Mickey?”

“Yes?”

“If it all goes wrong, I’ll still be there for you.”

“It won’t all go wrong,” I said.

But she had already turned away and started down the path.

Chapter 37

The town circle was bustling with late-night joggers of all ages, genders, and persuasions. The track was well lit and had no car traffic. It was safe, comfortable, and for those who liked to be seen working out, it offered something of an audience. I stood by a statue of Robert Frost in front of the library on the southern tip of the circle. The municipal buildings and YMCA, not to mention, I guess, the Schultz family shed, were on the other side of Kasselton Avenue.

My phone rang. It was Troy.

“Where are you?” I asked him.

“Look toward the Y.”

I did. It was too dark to see much.

“The right side,” he said. “Toward the back. I’m holding up my phone.”

Now I saw the glow of a phone, a pinprick of light in the dark.

“I see you,” I said. “I’m on my way.”

I hung up the phone and followed the light. Kasselton Avenue is the town’s busiest road. I waited for the light and crossed at the walk. No reason to jaywalk and break any extra laws tonight, thank you very much. I veered toward the YMCA and met up with Troy near the back of the building.

“Thanks for coming,” Troy said.

“No problem. Where is this shed?”

“It’s down that path. Come on, I’ll show you.”

We walked on a concrete pathway into the darkness. I glanced behind me. The circle was lit up almost like a distant dome. It provided a modicum of illumination, enough to see the faint outline of a small building maybe thirty yards in front of me.

All the lights were out in the shed.

“Mickey?” Troy whispered.

“Yeah?” I whispered back.

“Buck wouldn’t set me up. I don’t care what he was taking or doing. He wouldn’t do that to me.”

“What about Randy?” I asked.

“Maybe,” Troy allowed. “But why would he do it?”

“Why would Buck? Why would anyone?”

That question kept coming back to me. Why would anyone want to set Troy Taylor up for a positive drug test? Who gained from it? Who hated him enough . . . ?

Uh-uh, I told myself. No way.

I said that to myself because when I thought about who hated Troy, the first name that popped into my head was Ema.

I pushed the thought away. This sadly was sometimes how my mind worked. It went places that it shouldn’t go.

“I don’t know,” Troy said.

“So let’s see how this plays out.”

“Okay,” Troy said. “What do we do now?”

I took the lead. We crept down closer to the building. I wasn’t sure exactly how to describe the size. When I think of a shed, I think of a place to store tools in the backyard. This was bigger than that, closer to the size of a one-car garage. It was oddly situated too, behind town hall, not far from the police station, the library, and the high school. One would think that this was public land, owned by the town, but for some reason, Buck’s father had decided to purchase it.

Why?

I moved toward the shed and tried to look through the darkened windows. I cupped my hand against the glass and leaned in close. Part of me almost expected to see a face jump into view, like a big clown’s face with a big smile, and then I’d startle back, screaming.

Stop it, I scolded myself.

There was nothing to see. It was too dark.

Troy was trying to peer into the window too. “Make out anything?” he whispered to me.

“No.”

We circled the building. I could see why you might call it a shed. It was flimsier than a real building, made out of some kind of prefab material you’d find in the lot of a hardware store. There were two more windows in the back, but the shades were drawn.