When he says that, I feel a pain in the left side of my chest. It’s the same place I feel my heart beating when I run fast. The last time I had that feeling was a long time ago. It was a day Mom and I went down to the Honor Box in the morning and the table was empty. All the things from the table were scattered everywhere on the road, under the table, and in the ditch. I asked Mom if the wind had blown them off. She sat right down in the dirt then and explained that someone had stopped and knocked our things off on purpose.

She started picking them up off the ground, putting the ones that had not broken back on the table. She didn’t ask me to help. Watching Mom on her hands and knees under the table, I felt that pain for the first time. I didn’t know what I was feeling, but I knew it hurt.

If there was a postcard of the meteorite, it would mean the big rock got dug up and brought to live indoors in the museum in New York City, with no view of the sky it came from.

But James is watching me with his bright blue eyes so full of excitement that I answer, “Maybe there will be.”

“Birdie, I’m glad you didn’t want the postcards. Is that the tie Dr. Morgan gave you?” James leans across the dining room table where Birdie is sitting.

“MY tie.” Birdie covers the tie with both hands so James can’t touch it.

“I wasn’t going to take it. I just wanted to see what it felt like. It looks very shiny.”

Birdie smiles at James but keeps her hands over the tie and doesn’t answer him.

“I have something to show you, too,” Mom says, and holds up a metal sign with a color picture of a bird. It says endangered on the top. The bird looks like a cross between a wild turkey and a great blue heron. It’s gray, with a long neck, very long legs, and a small head with a bright spot of red on the top.

“BIG BIRDS,” Birdie shouts, running over to the sign.

“I think Birdie saw one of those birds when she was on top of the big rock,” I tell Mom.

“They’re sandhill cranes. The game warden thought he saw a flock of them the other day and came back today to check. He saw them again next to the water. Sandhill cranes are very rare and they like flooded fields. It’s the perfect wetland habitat for them out there.”

“What does that mean?” I ask Mom.

“ ‘Endangered’ means people have to leave their habitat alone. They can’t try to drain the field or reroute the water.”

“Or shoot them,” adds James, whose father hunts wild turkeys.