During lunch I fill Macy in on all of the sad things Dewey showed me yesterday. But I tell Macy not to be too upset about it, because there’s something starting to take shape in my thoughts. The outline of it is there in my mind.

“I can’t quite tell what,” I say. “But it’s something good.”

“Hmm,” Macy murmurs. “Sort of like when you can almost remember a dream, but then it floats away.”

“Exactly like that,” I tell her.

I pull my sketchbook out and flip through the pages.

“Hey, I remember seeing that once,” Macy says.

“Yeah, when Bailey passed it around on the bus.”

“Oh, yeah.” Macy cringes. “Well, forget about that. This is really cool—I wish I could draw like you,” she tells me, admiring the pages. “Is S. Hawkins supposed to be you?” she asks.

“I didn’t think so when I first came up with her,” I explain. “I took her name from the title of one of Mama’s mosaics. Last year she had one of her mosaics in an art gallery with a whole bunch of other artists’ work. She titled it Sadie Hawkins Dance as a secret message between the two of us, because I helped make it and because it includes my name.”

“What is a Sadie Hawkins Dance?” Macy asks.

“It’s a real thing that old people remember where the girls would ask people to dances, which I guess was unusual back then. I don’t think there is such a thing now because it doesn’t really matter who asks who to a dance anymore.”

Macy nods.

“So that’s where the name came from anyway, but I guess along the way she has become more like me—I mean, a much cooler version of me.” I giggle. “But still.”

“You’re pretty cool, even if you can’t time travel,” Macy tells me.

On the next page, there’s a note I scribbled last night before bed: Earthling has just told S. Hawkins that “Earthling” is not its name.

“Macy, I’ve got it!” I say, grabbing onto her hand.

“What?” she gasps.

“Dewey’s name,” I say. “Think about it: names should be special and thoughtful, not just some random words someone says at you!” I shout, getting excited. “Look at us: our middle names are both after real people.”

“Right,” Macy says, quietly at first, then louder, “you’re so right! And it goes the other way too. Names that aren’t nice”—she shoots eye daggers at the side of Bailey’s head—“are so awful.”

“Dewey needs a new name.”