Mae sits up, pulling her knees against her chest. She’s wearing her favorite striped vintage pajamas, with embroidered roses stitched along the collar. “I keep thinking about Dad’s book. How he’s not going to write it.”

I’m scared to touch on Dad. I think I kind of hate him now.

“Maybe you can write it yourself someday.”

She bites her lip. “I’m not going into theoretical studies, though. I mean, maybe on the side, but when you’re in the space program, you give up a research career.” She brightens a little. “Maybe I could talk to Becca—you know, his research assistant. We could cowrite it, maybe. I bet she has all his notes. She’s super into axions.”

I close my eyes. I could tell her. I should tell her. I think Mae was pissed about not being asked to go to the clinic with me. About being left out of something so important. I don’t want her to feel like I’m hiding something from her. But when I look at my sister in the dim light of my room, I see a spark in her eyes that hasn’t been there for a month.

“What about Tim? He worked with Dad longer,” I say. “Or one of the MacDougal genius guys.”

“MacArthur. It’s a MacArthur Fellowship.”

“Okay, whatever—you know what I mean. Get the most qualified person. Not some assistant.”

She nods. Then, because she’s Mae: “Hey, you want to know what I just read?”

“Huh.”

“Apparently, one of the prettiest things in space is when the astronauts dump their urine and it flash freezes. So when the sun hits the drops of urine, they’re like these diamonds floating in the sky.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“But kind of awesome.”

We’re silent for a while, each lost in our own thoughts.

“I haven’t been able to cry,” Mae whispers.

The hurt in her voice carves out my insides.

“I know,” I say. “It’s okay. People, like, deal in different ways. You know?”

Like with prescription drugs you stole from your dead father. I want to tell her about Mom doing a headstand in my room, but I don’t want her to tell me I imagined it. That it’s not possible.

She nods. “I feel like … I think it’s a distinct possibility there’s something wrong with me. Just a hypothesis. I need to conduct some experiments.”

I sit up on my elbow. Mae is talking about feelings. This is … unprecedented.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” I sit up all the way, cross my legs. “You came out fucking great. I’m the one with struggles. You know that.”

She shakes her head. “My parents died and I only cried once, when I was making the soup. I’m fucked-up.”

She never curses. This is serious.

I rest a hand on her knee. “Are you sad?”

“Of course.”