A big silver orb, surrounded by sparkly stars and wispy dark clouds. Bold, messy words scrolled right across the top.

Emmie’s Moon.

Dad never stopped believing I could grab that moon, did he?

He just needed enough time to build the right launchpad.

33

Testudo Time

I wake up on Saturday morning feeling different. I don’t know if I’m still keyed up from finally figuring things out with Dad. Or from the rush of the three hours we spent last night breaking in the new foam pit.

Whatever it is, something’s creeping into my headspace. A feeling Mom used to call battle mode. Usually she felt this when she was getting ready for an IEP meeting, but other times, too. Before Dad had a big test, or if she had to go argue with the hospital billing department about a wrong charge. She’d put on certain music—lots of loud, angry strings and shouty voices—to get herself pumped up as she got ready.

Assemble your team.

Gear up.

Raise your flag.

Speaking of gear, I’ve been thinking about that, too. Like when Devontae joked that the gear doesn’t make the athlete when Mr. Singletary busted on him for wearing rodeo boots on the basketball court.

Only sometimes, the gear actually does.

Take that foam pit. I spent three hours sailing off into that thing last night and didn’t get a single bruise.

It’s given me the faintest glimmer of an idea.

The presentation is tomorrow night.

I’ve got exactly thirty-six hours to assemble my team, gear up, and raise my flag.

First thing I do is force myself to spend an hour turning Devontae’s and my rough notes into a project outline. It’s messy, but it’s something, and I send it to him before I have time to stress over if I’ve done a crappy job on it.

Next, I message Ale.

HalfpipeEmms: Congrats on the test, your mom said you aced it. Knew you would.

ApisMelli: Thanks for the cones. How long did they take to pick up?

HalfpipeEmms: Forever.

Then, because I’ve been learning a lot about the trouble communication—or lack of it—can fix or cause, I swallow hard and tell her I’m sorry. Her reply comes back quick.

ApisMelli: Me too. Besides, we can’t still be fighting when you’re helping me study for my next test.

Luckily, Ale can’t see or hear me groan through the screen at the thought of more bee time. I fill her in about tomorrow and my slowly forming plan. We talk details, and she promises to pass the word to Tina, Zeke, and Markus—and even Logan—about their parts. When we’re done talking, I realize that, fight or not, Ale’s always right there—whenever I need her, no matter what else she’s got going on. As soon as tomorrow’s over, I think I’ve got some brushing up to do in the best friend department.

Then I send another message to Devontae, asking him to fill Shuri in on what’s about to go down.

Broncs&Boots: Shuri says she’s in. Says thanks for the outline, too—she’ll clean it up a little before Monday, but it looks good.