Who Are You? (9780307823533) by Joan Lowery Nixon

of paper into my bag. As soon as I can I’m going to pay another visit to Douglas Merson.

    On Wednesday I get up a half hour early and have breakfast on the table when Mom and Dad come into the kitchen. They look at the platters of scrambled eggs, sliced melon, and buttered toast and smile with delight.
    Mom hugs me, and I ache when I see the dark circles under her eyes. “You and Dad need to eat a good breakfast,” I tell her. “Coffee and toast doesn’t cut it.”
    “Who’s the mother?” she teases me.
    “Whoever makes breakfast.” I grin.
    It’s pretty quiet as they begin to eat, but I breakthe silence. “I talked to Sergeant Balker yesterday. He said Mr. Merson has been moved to a private hospital.”
    Dad and Mom both look up quickly.
    “Did he say which one?” Dad asks.
    “Sergeant Balker didn’t tell me anything,” I say, “except that Mr. Merson didn’t see the person who shot him. There’s no way he can identify him.”
    “Mr. Merson can talk?” Mom asks.
    “No, but I guess he can write.”
    “Good,” she says firmly. She bites down hard on her toast and chews it as though she’s crushing it to death. “He has some explaining to do to us. At this time of the year we need all the sleep we can get. I don’t appreciate having to lie awake nights worrying about what peculiar interest some strange man has in our daughter!”
    I reach across the table and pat her hand. “Mom, Sergeant Balker said he’d take us to see Mr. Merson in just a few days.”
    “Did he say what day?” Dad asks.
    “No. I don’t think he knows yet.”
    Mom peers at the tiny calendar fastened to the band on her wristwatch. “It’s going to have to be on a Sunday. There’s no way your father and I can take off during the week.” She gives a little moan. “But I do need to know what this is all about.”
    “Don’t worry, Mom. You will. The police are right on top of it.”
    And so am I.
But I don’t need to tell them that.

    Art appreciation class is great, as usual Ms. Montero is taking us through some really fascinating art history. As I study the slides on the screen I itch to visit the museums in person. Oh, if only I were an art historian myself, I’d get lost in the galleries and churches of Rome!
    Ms. Montero turns off the projector and flips on the lights. “On Friday evening at seven-thirty there’s a preview showing of an exhibition of eighteenth-century French paintings at the Museum of Fine Arts. Two of the paintings you just saw will be in the exhibit. I’ve arranged to get tickets for those of you who’d like to attend for extra credit.”
    I wave my hand wildly as she writes down names. I can’t wait to go.
    Jonathan stops by my desk as the class ends. His voice is softer than usual, and he stares at the floor. “We could go to the exhibition together,” he says.
    My heart gives a jump. All along I’ve thought Jonathan wasn’t interested in me, but that wasn’t it. Jonathan’s shy.
    His shyness is contagious. I find myself stammering, groping for words. I can feel my face turn red. “Uh—sure. I would. I mean, I’d like that. Going together, that is.”
    “Okay,” Jonathan says. He stops looking at my shoes. He raises his gaze until he’s looking right into my eyes, and he smiles at me. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
    I smile back. I don’t try to talk because my insides have turned squishy. Jonathan Stockton is the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen. And he’s asked mefor a date. Well, sort of a date. Through the rest of the day I float on invisible wings and sketch little Jonathans along the margins in my notebook. I can’t wait to tell Lindy. She doesn’t care about art, but she’ll care about my date.

    When I reach home after school, the wings fall off and I land with a thud. There’s a message from Mom on the answering machine.
    “Detective Balker called. He’s arranging for you, Dad, and me to visit Douglas Merson on Sunday afternoon.” There’s a pause, and