On cue, Gramps is there in the doorway, shaking Macy’s dad’s hand, saying, “I’m Grandpa Ed. Gramps for short.” Then he says, “And you must be the famous Origami Macy I’ve heard so much about. I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance—you’re a very talented young person.”

This makes her cheeks turn all flushed, and she looks down at her feet. “Thank you. Nice to meet you too.”

“Have fun,” Macy’s dad says, giving her a quick hug before he leaves.

As Macy walks into my room, she looks all around at my things—my books and art supplies and collection of stuffed animals—and I hope she’s not going to think I’m a baby for still having so many toys everywhere. She doesn’t say anything, though, until she reaches my desk. She taps her finger against the origami rabbit she gave me.

“You kept it,” she finally says.

“Of course I did,” I tell her. “That’s why Gramps calls you Origami Macy.”

“I like that better than my other nickname.” Macy grimaces. Before I can say anything to try to make her feel better, her eyes light up. “That’s her, isn’t it!” Macy exclaims. She’s standing in front of my drawing of Dewey hanging on the wall. “I can’t wait to see her in real life.”

“I can’t wait to see her again either,” I tell her.

There’s a bloopbloop sound coming from my desk.

“What’s that?” Macy asks.

I walk over and close my laptop. “It’s Jude. Video call.”

“You can answer if you want.”

“No, it’s okay.” I shrug, like me not wanting to talk to Jude is no big deal. “I can call her back later.”

“Oh.” Macy’s voice is barely a whisper. “Is it because you don’t want her to know that we’re friends now?”

“What? No, of course not! Besides, she knows that we’re friends already anyway.”

“Really?” Macy’s eyes light up. “And she doesn’t think you shouldn’t be hanging out with me?”

“Well, maybe she was surprised at first because we thought that you hated me,” I begin, but I can’t tell her the whole truth because that would just hurt her feelings.

Outside, I hear a car door shut. Once. And twice. A scuffle of shoes and bags and jingling keys as Mom and Noah come through the door.

“Honey, I’m ho-ome!” Noah bellows, copying something he saw on TV that’s supposed to be funny but isn’t.

“Hey, guys, we got some pizza—including a very special veggie deluxe for you, my dear,” I hear Mom say, so much more cheerful than she was last night in her bedroom when she didn’t know I was listening.