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answer based on how much information we have. Hannah does the horoscope research, and I compile the answers. All told, it’s about an hour’s work.
    Today we get our first feedback.
    â€œListen to this,” I say.
    â€œListening.” Hannah is stretched out on my bed watching a Leo forecast on YouTube.
    â€œNo, you’re not.”
    She sighs and presses Pause . “Okay. I am now.”
    I read, “ Dear Oracle. That girl I wanted to ask out last week? I took your advice and used little cut-up bits of magazines to spell out the words to ask her out on a date. I said, ‘Want to go check out the art gallery?’ and then I gave it to her at the end of break. And you know what? She loved it. She said she didn’t know any other guy who would take her to a gallery on a first date. Thanks! ”
    â€œAw, that is so sweet,” Hannah says. “Owen, you’re a matchmaker now!” She pats my back.
    â€œIt’s not me,” I say. “It’s the horoscopes. And you,” I add, with a half shrug.
    Hannah blushes. “Read me today’s questions.”
    â€œWell, I’ve already drafted a response to this one,” I say. “This one’s kind of heavy.” I glance at her. “There’s some messed-up kids out there.”
    Her brow furrows. “Read it.”
    â€œIt’s from someone called Losing Hope,” I begin. “ Dear Oracle. I can’t take it anymore. Last night my dad got really angry with me. Again. He was drinking. He was mad because I didn’t have enough money to go buy him cigarettes. ”
    Hannah sits up. “What?”
    I keep reading.
    â€œ So he broke all the dishes, one by one. And then he made me clean up the mess. With my hands. ”
    â€œ What ?” Hannah whispers.
    I finish the note. “ I don’t know what to do. If I run away, I’ll end up living on the streets. I’m seriously thinking about just ending it all. Maybe I can start over in another lifetime. ”
    I turn to Hannah. “Signed, Losing Hope .”
    Hannah swallows. “Someone actually had that happen to them?”
    I nod slowly. “Someone at our school.”
    â€œWho?” she asks. Her question hangs in the air, heavy and sad.
    I shake my head. “Who knows?”
    â€œWhat did you tell her?” Hannah’s voice quavers.
    â€œKids’ Help Phone,” I say. “As a first step. I also googled teen depression domestic violence and came up with a number for the National Domestic Violence Hotline.”
    Hannah shudders. She stares down at her hands. I know she, like me, will spend tomorrow looking for people with cuts on their hands.
    â€œAnd,” I add, “I said she had to tell someone at school—a trusted adult. Maybe a teacher or the counselor. I said there’s people who can help, and there are safe places to go.”
    Hannah nods. “I hope she’s okay,” she whispers. She looks out my window.
    â€œI hope so too,” I say. And I really do. I think about how kids like that don’t often report abuse because they don’t want their parents to get in trouble. So they take it. Until they can’t take it anymore.
    I don’t want Losing Hope to be like that. I’ll check in with her again sometime soon. See how she’s doing. Whether she’s reached out to someone yet.
    I glance back at Hannah. “Do you need to take a break?” I ask.
    She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “No, we can go on.” She pauses. “I think you did a good job on that one. There’s not much else you can do right now.”
    I shrug. “I wish I could do more.”
    â€œLet’s keep an eye out for when Losing Hope surfaces again,” she says. “I hope she does.”
    I nod. “Me too.”

Chapter Nine
    â€œKeep reading,” Hannah says.
    I read a dozen questions out loud. When I get to the last one, my heart