We park our bikes in the woods by Longfellow Pond and walk the rest of the way. We crack leaves and twigs crack, but out here, we’re probably the only ones that can hear them.
Why are we doing this, again?
A postcard, I say. We enter through the window over the south stairs. He starts getting talky outside Miss Miller’s door. I have to tell him to shut up and wait for me by the School Nurse.
I get out my Secret Sam lock pick and pull the desk drawers, one by one. And there it is, at the back of the bottom-right drawer: a beat-up old photograph. I clean up and pull all the doors tight.
We help each other onto the roof, get on our bikes and pedal hard. When we get to Babson I pull it out of my pocket.
It’s warped and blurry, like it’s been underwater. There used to be handwriting on the back, but now it’s smudged. Even the people on the other side are gone, like they’ve been rubbed clean. I feel like they’re trying to smile at us.
Damn it, I say under my breath.
What? For once, he looks like he’s really paying attention.
I think we got there too late.