The yellow square was waiting inside his locker door on Friday morning, stuck dead center at eye level, exactly where it would have been if somebody had known he'd stand there.
Alexander read it with his hand still on the latch.
SHE SAW THE CARD. TELL HER BEFORE I DO.
Block capitals. Black felt-tip. Ruler-straight bars on every E. For a moment the hallway noise dropped away, as if somebody had turned down a dial, and all he could hear was the blood in his ears.
The card.
There were four people on earth who knew about the card. His father. Himself. Charles Hale, presumably. And Emma, who'd seen it less than twelve hours ago slid halfway out of his bag in a room with the door shut, and hadn't said one word.
Except it had not been shut. He remembered, now, the narrow pane of wired glass
