Macy props herself up on her elbow now, narrowing her eyes at me. “Are you serious?”

I cringe, not wanting her to think I’m crazy. I nod instead of answering out loud.

“Stop,” she says, giggling. “You’re just trying to see if I’m that gullible!”

“It’s the truth,” I tell her. “I mean, or maybe I’m just imagining it.”

“Wait, you’re not joking?” she says, her face smoothing out into something like a grin. “This explains how you knew so much about her!”

“It feels so good to have the truth out, finally! Gramps is the only other person who knows. And Jude,” I add, “but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t believe me.”

“Well, I do.”

We lie back down, and I feel light and floaty, like a feather.

“Sadie,” Macy says. “Do you know why people started calling me Mean Machine?”

I remember it was after she got into those fights with the older kids when we were in third grade. I’m a little confused about why she’s bringing this up now, but I answer, “Yes, I—I think so.”

“I’m not sure you do,” she tells me.

I sit up again so I can see her.

“Those older kids,” she continues. “They had somehow found out that my mom had just died and that my sobo had moved in with us, and they started saying mean things to me—bullying me, making fun of me for not having a mom.”

“What?” I gasp.

“And I couldn’t think of any words to say back because I was so sad and so angry. So I punched them.” She rubs her eyes. “I know it’s not right to ever hit anyone, but—”

“I would’ve done the same thing,” I interrupt, feeling so many lava-like emotions boiling up inside of me.

She turns her head to look at me, and even though she’s crying, she smiles. “So that’s the real story.”

“It was so wrong of them to do that, Macy! I can’t believe anyone would be so cruel.”

She nods, and continues, “The principal said I could stay in school and not be expelled for fighting if my dad made sure I went to counseling—to, you know, talk about my feelings about my mom and everything.”

“And that’s where you go on Thursday mornings,” I realize, all the pieces finally coming together.

“It helps,” she says. “Sometimes.”

“If I’d have known what really happened, I promise I would’ve tried to be your friend before.”

“Thanks, Sadie.” She yawns, and murmurs, “I’m just glad we’re friends now.”

“So am I,” I tell her, but I think she’s already asleep.