She writes something else and passes it to me again. Just then, the lights suddenly turn back on, and Ms. Avery moves to the front of the room and starts asking questions about the movie. I slide the paper onto my lap to read it.

In big letters under my note, she wrote:

ORIGAMI . . . and thank you, I would like that too.

Who would’ve guessed I actually have something in common with Macy MacHine? Even if it is something as small as wishing we could decorate our desks.

I count down the minutes until lunchtime. Our class walks in a line toward the cafeteria, and even though we’re supposed to be quiet because the third and fourth grade rooms that we pass are still in class, lots of the students are talking and laughing. If Jude were still here, I probably would be too, and we’d probably already have come up with a plan to save Dewey.

But she’s not here.

I sit down in my usual spot at the middle of my classroom’s lunch table, scrunched between two groups of friends, neither of which are mine, and begin unpacking my lunch bag: leftover pizza, a plastic container of animal crackers, and an apple. I take out my napkin, and I see a note written there in red pen:

Have a good day! Love, Moms

They never forget to leave me a note on my napkin. This might be one more thing that Noah would say makes me a baby, but I don’t care—my napkin notes help me get through the school day.

I look down toward the end of the table, and I see Macy sitting with an open seat on either side. No one ever sits next to her. She has a paper animal sitting on the edge of her lunch tray. She always has at least one of her animals with her at lunch. Maybe it’s sort of like my napkin note—her paper creatures are just one of the things that make the school day a little easier.

I collect my lunch items and put them back into my lunch bag, stuff my napkin note into my pocket, and stand up. I feel Bailey’s laser eyes watching me relocate. When I get to the end of the table where Macy is sitting, I can see that today she has the origami bunny on her tray.

I stand by the seat next to her, clear my throat, and say, “Can I sit here?”

She lifts one shoulder and says, “I guess.”