Right then, even with my heart pounding and my body feeling heavier than two cement trucks, there were three things I knew for certain:

1. I was alive.

2. I was real.

3. I was breathing.

And when your body feels as heavy as it did in that moment—when your heart feels like a ticking bomb just waiting to go off—there was only one thing I could do.

I repeated my dad’s words in my head, exactly how he’d said them: You find a safe place, as far from people as you can get, and you remind yourself of those three things. Keep reminding yourself until you’re sick of hearing it. And when you’re sick of hearing it, remind yourself again. Because it’s true.

I was alive. I was real. I was breathing.

But what was also true was that any second now, two of those things might not be true anymore.

Because I had found out something—something bad. And if anyone ever found out that I knew this bad thing, they would kill me. It was that bad. And when something is that bad, you don’t let anyone know you know.

I told myself again: I was alive. I was real. I was breathing.

Then I stood up from the bathroom stall, wiped my face, and went back to class like nothing had happened.

‖‖*‖‖

The bell for lunch rang at 12:30 p.m., but I didn’t leave right away. I waited until everyone else was gone, then went up to Ms. Miller’s desk to ask if I could stay in the classroom during lunch. But before I even opened my mouth, she said, “No, Jamie. What did we talk about?”

I sighed. “But—”

She gave me that stern-but-soft look—the one that silently said, Life will only hold you back if you let it.

So I grabbed my backpack and headed to the cafeteria.

Everything seemed louder. Bigger. Scarier. Even the other kids seemed different—taller, meaner, more alert. Why was everyone looking at me? Did they know? No. They couldn’t.

I went to an empty table all the way in the back, near the bathrooms and trash cans. Just in case I needed to throw up or hide in a stall again.

I kept my head down, unzipped my backpack, and pulled out the lunch Cindy made: tomato and mayo on wheat bread, baby carrots, and an applesauce packet. Easy enough. She couldn't mess this up.

Dad used to say I ate like I was still in kindergarten, that it made packing my lunch easier—but that I should try something new once in a while. He and I both knew that was never going to happen.

I smiled a little at the memory. Good thoughts. Yes. That was the goal.

No bad thoughts.

None.

At.

All.

“Hey, Jamie.”

The voice yanked me out of my head.

I looked up and saw a boy with bark-colored hair and grass-green eyes. Liam O’Malley.

“What?” I asked, trying not to sound annoyed.

“I heard about your dad. Sorry,” he said, barely any emotion in his voice as he dipped a tater tot in ketchup.

“What?” I repeated. “Oh—yeah. It’s fine.”

No bad thoughts. No bad thoughts. No bad thoughts.

“How did he die?”

My eyes widened. My heart skipped a beat. The air grew thin. “You can’t ask that.”

He frowned, like he was actually surprised that wasn’t okay to say. “Really? You don’t have to answer. I was just asking.”

Why him? Out of everyone—why Liam O’Malley? The boy with no sense of social cues. In seventh grade, he asked Mrs. Morenna when she was due. She was fifty-six and had never had kids. The room basically froze for a week after that.

He wasn’t a normal kid. And I guess because I wasn’t either, he thought that made us compatible somehow. I tried to avoid him. But there he was—sitting with me, saying sorry, asking questions.

Before I could think, I shot up and ran out of the cafeteria, leaving both my backpack and lunch behind. I didn’t plan on going back for either. I just kept running until I found an empty hallway and collapsed in the corner, head in my hands.

I was alive. I was real. I was breathing.

Just keep saying it.

I was alive. I was real. I was breathing.

“Are you okay, Jamie?”

My head snapped up. Somehow, Liam was standing there again—holding my stuff.

“I’m sorry I asked about your dad. I just wanted to know because my mom’s dad’s dad is dead and I think—”

“Just stop, okay?” I said, trying not to yell. My eyes burned. Tears were coming.

“What’s wrong?” Liam asked, sitting down beside me.

I took a deep breath. Then I looked right into his grass-green eyes—and I told him.

I told him everything. About finding my dad’s notebooks with the codes and numbers. About the entry he wrote an hour before he “died,” saying he was being watched and time was running out. About how the body they found couldn’t have been his, because my dad was the best swimmer in the world and would never drown. About how he would never want to die and leave me alone. About how I knew he was killed—and I knew who did it—but I couldn’t say anything or I’d die too.

When I finished, I actually felt a little lighter. Liam looked like his brain was still trying to process the first sentence. I wiped my cheeks and grabbed his hand.

“Listen. You have to promise you won’t tell anyone, okay? Promise.”

He nodded.

“No. You have to say it or it doesn’t count.”

“I promise,” he said.

I smiled, and we locked pinkies. Then I helped him up, and we walked back to the cafeteria together.

Could I trust him? Liam O’Malley? I was almost certain I couldn’t. But maybe I could. And if there was anyone I might trust, he wasn’t at the bottom of the list. Because once, in fourth grade, I climbed to the top of the jungle gym, and on the way down, I ripped the back of my pants. I spent the rest of recess sitting on a bench until Liam found me.

I cried. I was dramatic. But he just said it was fine and gave me his jacket. We never talked about it again. I never gave it back, either—but I don’t think he cared. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he was just good at keeping secrets.

Whatever the case, no matter how weird he was, he wasn’t a snitch.

‖‖*‖‖

When I got home, Cindy was already in the kitchen starting dinner. She liked cooking early. I kicked off my shoes, dropped my backpack on the floor, and started up the stairs before she stopped me.

“Hi, hello, how are you?” she said. “How was school?”

I squinted at her. “Are you having a stroke?”

She laughed. “No! I’m trying to talk to you. All you do is go to school and then lock yourself in your room or your dad’s study.”

“Yeah. I’m trying to continue his work. It’s important, and it’s what he would want.” I scoffed. “There are just things you don’t understand.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes, and you understand them? You’re fifteen, Jamie. I know you’re grieving, but you will never heal this way. That’s why I decided to clean out the study.”

“What?”

It felt like that word had become my entire vocabulary lately. “WHAT? What did you do?!”

“Some guys from your dad’s job came over and asked for all of his work and stuff on his projects. They’re going to continue his work, because they actually know what they’re doing.”

“No!”

I sprinted upstairs and into Dad’s study. Everything was gone. The notebooks, the papers—every trace of him.

I bolted back downstairs, out the front door, and all the way to Liam’s house. I knocked, out of breath. He opened the door almost immediately.

“Jamie? What are you doing here?”

“I need your help,” I said.

He didn’t even ask with what. He just closed the door behind him and followed me. We went to my treehouse in the backyard.

I tried to explain everything again—how we had to find those guys I didn’t even know and get my dad’s work back and figure out the truth—but the words got stuck in my throat. It felt like trying to speak through glue. Impossible.

“Jamie?” Liam said after a long silence. “Do you ever feel like you’re just taking up space sometimes?”

I looked at him. Yes, he was a weird. And he sometimes got bullied for it. Even I wasn’t always nice to him.

Suddenly, in that moment, I felt awful.

“No—no, never,” I said. “I mean, yes, but no. I mean—do you?”

He didn’t answer.

I took a deep breath. “My dad told me once, we don’t take up space, we conquer it.”

“What does that mean?” Liam asked.

“It means the world doesn’t define us. We define it. And… life will only hold you back if you let it.” I never thought I’d quote Ms. Miller, but there I was.

“What do you think happened to your dad? Really?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Just that they’re lying. To us. To me. And why would they go so far as using someone else’s body just to convince people he died? They’d only do that if it was important. Right?”

Liam nodded.

“So, I need your help. I think. And I don’t know what I’m going to do, but if you don’t mind being a little confused and scared with me, I think we can find out the truth.”

“We can try,” he said.

I smiled. He smiled back.

Four things were certain: I was alive. I was real. I was breathing.

And Liam O’Malley was great at keeping secrets.