“Yes, Mr. Braggy, this stone is without a doubt the real thing, the rare find I dared not hope to see in my lifetime. It is one of the more sizable meteorites to fall in North America. What becomes of this large stone is another story entirely, not mine to tell.”

Dr. Miles Morgan turns to me.

“This is your story, Henry Bower, yours and the young lady in red who possesses no fear of heights.”

Birdie is not only standing on top of the rock now, she is jumping on one foot and then the other, humming the “Moon River” tune.

“She gets that from me,” Braggy tells Dr. Morgan, beating his chest. “No fear here, either.”

Miles Morgan blows warm air onto his fingers. He pulls up his sleeve and looks at his watch. “It’s later than I thought. I must depart shortly. My flight leaves this evening.”

I pry the little stone off the big rock. It doesn’t come off as easily as it flew on. I help Birdie down off the meteorite and she skips along next to us. The curator is silent as we head to the house.

Dr. Morgan keeps looking back at the meteorite, as if he wants to fix it in his mind the way I did. Once, he stops, gets out his silver camera, and takes a photograph of the rock in the distance, with the water coursing down below it. I’m quiet, too, and I imagine how the rock called to the underground water. I wonder if it rose to the ground as quickly as Dr. Morgan’s small stone was drawn to the meteorite.

I have one more question for the curator.

“When you were ten years old and the rock came through the window, was that when you knew you were going to move to New York City one day?”

“No, I didn’t. Like your big rock up there, I had no idea where I would end up.”

“Do you miss your home in Nottingham?”

“Yes, I do sometimes,” the curator says.

“You can visit the meteorite anytime you want, Dr. Morgan.” Then I add, “If Nana knows you’re coming, she’ll make fresh biscuits.”

“Thank you, Henry, and I hope you and your family and your mate James will come for a tour of the meteoritic exhibition at the museum someday.”

The curator stops at Nana’s house and comes out with his briefcase. He hands me a small card.

Miles M. Morgan, PhD, Curator

Arthur Ross Hall of Meteorites

American Museum of Natural History

212-769-5100

Underneath the phone number, there’s also an email address for the curator.

“If you call, tell the operator your name and ask to be put through to me,” he says.