“Yeah,” I agree. “It was, kind of.”

We sit in our own bubble of quiet in the middle of the noisy cafeteria, and I start to think, for the first time since Jude left, that maybe I could actually be okay here without her someday.

“Macy?” I finally say, breaking the silence. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“What happened on the first day of school. On the bus, I mean. That was a complete accident. I wasn’t paying attention. I never would’ve tripped you on purpose. This whole time I thought you hated me. But then you were the only person who was nice to me after I made a total jerk of myself in class earlier this week. You’re kind of the only person who’s been nice to me lately at all.”

“I’m sorry I was so mean about what happened on the bus. I shouldn’t have—it’s just that I’m so used to people making fun of me, calling me names . . .”

“Me too!” I admit, beginning to feel a little flutter in my throat, my eyes getting wet. “Which is why I wouldn’t do that to anyone else.”

“My sobo always says ‘sticks and stones’—you know the saying, right?”

“Words can never hurt you?” I finish.

“Yeah.” She pauses and looks at me, her chin trembling, and I can’t tell if she’s about to laugh or cry. “So I try not to get upset about words, but it’s not easy.”

“I hate that saying,” I tell her. “It’s applesauce!” She doesn’t know that Gramps-ism, but it makes her smile anyway.

“So . . . we’re friends, then?” she asks me, uncertainly.

“Friends,” I agree.

“Well, then in that case, maybe . . .” She stops short.

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could come over to my house after school today?”

I feel all warm and cozy inside, and I actually want to go to Macy’s house. I want to meet her bunny and her grandma and see what her bedroom is like. Even though it doesn’t really help the mission of rescuing Dewey, it still feels like a good idea.

Also, maybe I don’t quite want to face Gramps yet. I don’t want to know yet what he does or doesn’t remember from last night. Macy and I immediately pack up our things and go to one of the lunch monitors to ask to go to the lavatory, not to conduct an “experiment,” as Jude would say, but to sneak a phone call to my moms.

Mama, to be exact.

“It’s ringing,” I whisper to Macy, who is standing in the bathroom stall next to me.

She holds up both hands in between us, with her fingers crossed.

“Sadie?” Mama answers. “Is everything okay?”