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privacy.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œI don’t know if I should tell you.”
    This sounded interesting. “I can keep a secret.”
    â€œIt’s not a secret. It’s just a little complicated.”
    And of course I’m a simp who reads Dr. Seuss books. “I’d still like to know. So I can tell my editor why I couldn’t get the information.”
    â€œWell, you see, given what he did, people look for reasons.”
    I nodded. “Why he did it.”
    â€œYes. And if he happened to be reading some book, people could assume that he was influenced negatively by it.”
    â€œMaybe he was,” I suggested.
    This time I got a disapproving look. I felt ashamed. “Books don’t make people do bad things,” she told me. “But people like to blame them when bad things happen. If they knew what books Cale was reading, that kind of person would want me to remove them from the library.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t do that,” I said, trying to reassure her I was on her side.
    â€œIt’s not just up to me,” she said. “I have to answer to the principal and the school board.”
    I mulled this over. “What if they asked you what books Cale was reading?”
    â€œSo far,” she said, “they haven’t. And if you don’t mind, I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring up the subject in your article.”
    I shook hands with her again, to show she could trust me. And also because I enjoyed shaking hands with her. Then I thought of something else. “Was there a yearbook that had Cale’s picture?”
    She brightened up. She hadn’t thought of that. “Well, let’s see, shall we?” She went to a shelf that held a bunch of old yearbooks, and took down the latest one. “So he was a junoir,” she said, flipping the pages. “Here’s the class picture, and the names. He should be second one in the third row…oh.”
    I peered over her shoulder. The class had sat on some bleachers in the gym. I saw what had surprised her. Somebody had taken a black magic marker and blotted out the face of the second person in the third row.
    She let me take the book from her, because after all there was no privacy issue with that. I stared at the blacked-out face. In death, Cale had become…nobody.
    I gave the yearbook back to her. I tried to decide if it was worthwhile to call my dad and ask him to pick me up, or if I should just walk home. I went outside to see what the weather was like, and found North Hawkins sitting there in a pickup truck. It was black but shiny, and big. He sat way up off the ground, and glanced over as I approached.
    â€œHey,” he said when he saw me.
    â€œHey,” I replied.
    â€œYou got any wheels?” he asked.
    I had a feeling he knew I didn’t. “No.”
    â€œYou want a lift?”
    â€œSure.” I went around to the other side of the truck and felt like it ought to have a ladder to make it easier to get inside. But I made it. He started the truck and drove off. I wasn’t paying attention because I had my eyes on the rifle mounted over the windshield. I guess he noticed my surprise, because he said with a grin, “Don’t have them where you come from?”
    â€œWe carry handguns instead,” I said, trying to be a tough guy.
    He gave a laugh as if he knew I was kidding. “I bet you never fired a rifle,” he said.
    â€œYou’re right,” I admitted.
    â€œReally? I was just putting you on. You honestly never fired a rifle?”
    â€œOr anything else.” He might as well know the awful truth.
    He shook his head. “Well, we can fix that up right quick.” He pulled off to the side of the road.
    â€œWhy are we stopping?” I asked, though I had a pretty good idea.
    He took the rifle off its rack and got out. The next thing I knew, he opened the door on my side. “Come on,” he said,