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reached toward me again, but I took another step backward. “Like I told you, we travel from school to school making sure students are safe.”
    â€œIt’s true, Melody,” Miss Weatherall chimed in. “That’s all we’re doing.”
    But I wasn’t sure I believed either one of them anymore. “I’m safe,” I declared. “May I go now?”
    Mr. Daniels dropped his hand. “Of course,” he said, but he sounded frustrated. “You can go, Melody.”
    Suddenly, Miss Weatherall was on her feet, too, reaching into her pocketbook and offering me a small white card. “Do not hesitate to call if you want to talk.”
    â€œWait a minute.” Mr. Daniels— Detective Daniels—snatched the card before it was in my hand. “I don’t have my cards with me.” He pulled a ballpoint pen from his pocket and wrote on the back of it. “That’s my cell phone number. You can call me, too. Anytime.”
    I accepted the card, then I hustled myself out of there. Last period was almost over, and already the office secretary was coming on the intercom with end-of-school announcements. “The girls’ lacrosse team should go directly to their bus for the away game. Boys’ lacrosse report to the field for practice.”
    A few kids were moving into the hallways, but most were still in class awaiting the final bell. I was glad I had a head start.
    Some days, if I stayed late for play practice or the magazine, I rode home from school with my father. But Wednesdays, when I volunteered at the stable, I always took the bus. So I headed to my locker for my jacket and to grab the homework books I needed.
    Cindy Jarmon and I arrived at our side-by-side lockers at the same time. When we were little, Cindy was in my Brownie troop. I used to go to her birthday parties. But she is Miss Popularity now, a cheerleader, too. I try not to hold that against her, and usually we get along fine. We even say hi to each other in the mornings. Then we get our stuff and go our separate ways. But that day, while I stood spinning the dial to my combination, she asked me what had happened.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    She screwed up her face. “Like, what happened to your dad?” I was still confused by the session I’d just had with Detective Daniels and Miss Weatherall, and it annoyed me that Cindy was being so nosy. Quickly, I pushed the small white card I’d just been given into my jeans pocket. Even if my dad was in some kind of trouble, Cindy didn’t care; she just wanted to gossip.
    â€œNothing happened,” I said. As far as I knew, that was true.
    The announcements continued: “There will be no jazz band practice or instrument lessons after school today.”
    Why no jazz band? I wondered. Dad would never cancel jazz band a week before the competition!
    â€œAll students who are in the band, or are scheduled for a lesson with Mr. Mattero, please report to the library.”
    Startled, my lips parted in surprise. I looked at Cindy who was staring at me. But I pulled myself together fast, reached into my locker for my jacket, slammed the metal door shut, then spun around and raced for the bus.
    I took a seat near the back and was grateful when no one else sat beside me. Our bus wasn’t crowded, thank goodness. After we turned out of the school driveway and headed down the highway, I reached into my pants pocket for the little white card I’d just been given. Glancing around, I saw that no one was looking, so I took my time reading it.
    Janice Weatherall
    Child Welfare Investigations
    Patuxent County Department of Social Services
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    Her phone and Fax numbers were listed. On the flip side was Detective Daniels inked-in cell phone number.
    Frowning, I stared at the card. Why would these people want to talk to me ? Were they worried about something happening at my school? Were they worried about someone in particular? Was