“So your theory,” she says slowly, “is that we’re in the wrong library?”
“Maybe. I didn’t say that exactly,” I say. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”
Julia comes to my other side and looks at the photo. I half expect to see her chin bob up and down like Sunny’s did. But instead of looking up at the library and back down, Julia cocks her head to the left, then back at the photo. Left, and photo. I follow her gaze to another large concrete building farther down the block.
“What is it?” I ask her.
Julia points. “I came that way this morning,” she says. “I got lost looking for the coffee place. I sort of think…the building in the photo might be…”
She trails off and starts walking down the sidewalk. Sunny, Gabriel, and I all glance at each other. We turn and head after her. The three of us have barely crossed to the other side of Civic Center Plaza when Julia suddenly whoops triumphantly a few yards ahead.
“This is it!” she shouts.
She waves us over until we’re standing directly across from the building literally next door to the place we just were. Gabriel opens the camera again, but we don’t even need to see the old photo side by side to know, immediately, that Julia is right. This is the library from the photo—the one that GeorgeW. Kelham designed and built in 1917. But it’s not the main library anymore. Now it’s—
“The Asian Art Museum,” Julia reads off the building’s stone inscription.
Asian Art Museum
Chong-Moon Lee Center for Asian Art and Culture
“Wow.” Sunny looks impressed. “My people! This is, like…the coolest form of gentrification.”
I look over at her. “I think, technically, gentrification is when wealthy people take advantage of cheap property in poorer areas. So I don’t know if a library turning into an art museum counts as gentrification.”
Sunny nods. “Okay, Asianification, then.”
“But that’s not really a thing—”
Gabriel stops me. “Shhhh. Let her have this,” he says.
We stare at the building.
“So, what do we do now?” Julia asks.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes to think. I’ve been in this situation before—watched buildings’ signs change, seen their insides gutted, seen new personalities take over old bodies like it was no big deal. Nothing in San Francisco ever stays the same.
Nothing ever stays the same.
My arms feel uncomfortably warm. I open my eyes. “I guess…we go inside anyway,” I say finally. “And see how much things have changed. Who knows, maybe Gilbert Baker’s clue is still in there.”
Julia links arms with me. “Let’s go, then, Dorothy.”
“Hell no,” Sunny says. “I’m the Dorothy in this scenario.”
I shrug. “That’s fine. You can be Dorothy.” I’m trying hard not to sound as completely defeated as I feel.
“Lion!” Julia calls, raising her hand.
Gabriel throws back his shoulders and links his arm with my free one. “As long as it’s agreed that the Scarecrow was actually smart the whole time—because hewas—I’ll be the Scarecrow.”
“You can be the Tin Man,” Sunny tells me. “Come on, everyone. For a home!” she says, marching us ahead.
“For bravery!” Julia shouts.
“For a diploma!” Gabriel adds.
I turn over my shoulder and spare one last glance at the new library. I think about Cam inside, stalking up and down the gleaming aisles, searching for the next clue. Something aches deep in my chest.
