Everyone whooped and hollered and said that Macy was going to kill me. They thought I did it on purpose to make fun of her, but I would never do something like that. I told Macy I was sorry and I asked if she was okay and I tried to explain what happened, but she wouldn’t listen. I only stepped on her shoe because I had my S. Hawkins sketchbook open, drawing while I was walking, which was probably not the best idea.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, another kid from my class, Bailey, snatched my book and started reading the S. Hawkins graphic novel out loud and passing it around to the entire bus, but when I tried to explain that it was not about an astronaut, but a time-traveling superhero from outer space, they just thought that was stupid. Or thought I was stupid. Either way, that is what led to the creation of my own nickname: Sadie “Spacegirl” Mitchell-Rosen.

I don’t bring S. Hawkins to school anymore.

And I don’t say anything as I approach the other kids at the bus stop—I never do. But that doesn’t keep them from talking to me.

“Did you get dressed in the dark, Spacegirl?” It’s Jayden, another kid in my grade, trying to look cool in front of the sixth graders by making fun of me.

“No,” I respond with as much attitude as I can muster. But then I follow where they’re pointing, and I look down at my feet. My socks don’t match: one is white and the other is blue with tiny orange goldfish swimming around and blowing bubbles.

Great.

Bailey cuts her eyes to me and snorts a quick chuckle in my direction. Moments like this, I wish Noah was still at my school. He may make fun of me all the time at home, but he’ll always stick up for me if anyone else tries it.

I look at Macy’s socks: they are both purple.

She glances over at the binoculars hanging around my neck.

“They’re for bird-watching,” I explain.

“I don’t care,” Macy mumbles, and shrugs in return. I think those are the most words I’ve ever heard Macy say, to me or to anyone, for that matter.

“I mean, I wasn’t bird-watching just now. I was looking for a lost . . . dog . . .” I trail off because Macy has already turned away from me. I’m not sure why I keep speaking; maybe just so the last thing said isn’t Jayden’s comment about my socks.

“You lost your dog?”

When I look up Macy’s facing me, waiting for a response.

“Well, sorta. She’s not exactly my dog,” I begin. “But yeah, she’s lost. Have you seen a dog around? She has two different-colored eyes and one floppy ear and one pointy ear and a big bushy tail.”