“You don’t have to eat the veggies; Dango can help us—broccoli and green peppers are his favorite treat in the world.” Macy whispers, and as she holds out a thin slice of pepper for Dango he grabs it with his tiny paws and starts gnawing on it. “But try one of the little cakes—they’re so yummy.”

I choose one of the balls of dough and take a bite. It’s soft and sticky, with this sweet marshmallow texture on the inside, but floury like a cookie on the outside. “It’s so delicious!” I exclaim.

“Mochi,” she says. “My grandma makes them.”

“Lucky you!” I say, even though my mouth is still full. But then I start thinking about Gramps and his epic PB&J sandwiches; I start to feel a little guilty for wanting to avoid him.

“What’s wrong?” Macy asks. I guess she can tell from the look on my face that something is bothering me. “It’s not the mochi, is it?”

“No,” I tell her. “Just thinking about Gramps and your sobo and . . . family stuff.” I look up at the sky-painted ceiling again.

“Here, let me show you something,” Macy says, standing up. She walks over to the window and closes her curtains and turns off the ceiling light. And as she comes to sit next to me again the ceiling is slowly illuminated with glow in the dark stars, but not the stick-on kind like Jude had in her old bedroom. These are painted into constellations.

“Wow,” I breathe. “Your mom did all this?”

Macy nods as we both admire the sky above us.

“It was almost two years ago,” she says quietly. “When my mom died.”

My heart plummets. “Macy . . .” I begin.

“It’s okay.” She tries to smile but she has tears in her eyes.

I don’t really know what to say, but I try to find something.

“I’m so sorry, and I’m so, so sad for you.”

Dango climbs up into Macy’s lap, like he knows that she needs him.

“I know you said before that you didn’t want to talk about it, but if you ever do, I’d like to hear about her.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I will want to someday. Just not today.”

Chapter 16

MARSHMALLOW

The entire way home, my thoughts are divided between Macy and her family on one side and trying to prepare myself to face Gramps on the other.

“Gramps, I’m home!” I say, making my way toward the kitchen. I expect to find him in there, lining up all the PB&J ingredients.

I set my backpack down on the floor, and when I look through the window, I catch sight of the door of Mama’s She Shed swinging wide open.

“What the . . . ?” I mutter to myself.

I race back into the living room and grab an umbrella from the metal holder we keep by the door. “Gramps?” I call once more.