Nova put her forehead down on the desk table, ignoring Mrs. Pierce.

Yes, Nova wanted to answer. Yes, there is something wrong. Bridget isn’t here. That’s what’s wrong.

By the time she was ready to work again, the school day was over.

At bedtime, Billy and Francine tucked her in together. Usually they took turns, so this was different, but Nova didn’t mind the change in routine too much.

“Mrs. Pierce said you had a hard time concentrating on testing today,” said Francine as she drew the blankets up to Nova’s chin, the way she liked them. “It’s very, very important for her to figure out what you know so she can decide what you need to learn. That’s why we want you to do your best job, okay?”

“Kay,” echoed Nova, annoyed by this. Her best job never seemed to be good enough, so why even try?

“How about Horton Hears a Who!?” asked Billy, sliding the picture book from the shelf. Nova hit herself in the temple one-two-three-four times and grunted. Billy and Francine read Dr. Seuss every night. She was as sick of Dr. Seuss as she was of gummy bears.

She reached into the nightstand beside her bed and pulled out Bridget’s beloved, beat-up copy of The Little Prince. She handed it to Francine.

“Ah.”

“You want us to read this?” asked Billy, returning Horton to his place between the Grinch and the Lorax. “I’m not familiar with it.”

“It’s French,” said Francine. “Not this version, this is in English, but the story was originally written in French.”

“Ah! Mm!” Nova waved NASA Bear’s paw. He wanted Bridget’s book too.

The off-white cover of The Little Prince depicted a boy with wide-legged, mint-green pants, a red bow tie, and a shock of hair the yellow color of the sun and stars, standing on top of a planet that Nova knew to be Asteroid B-612. On the first page was another color illustration, this one featuring a snake about to make a wild beast his dinner. But Nova’s favorite picture from the entire book was on the next page—an elephant inside the body of a boa constrictor. The elephant had been swallowed whole. His one visible eye was rolled up toward the sky as if he was thinking, Oh, great. I’ve been eaten.

“ ‘Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves,’ ” read Francine, “ ‘and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.’ ”

Nova grinned. That was one of Bridget’s favorite lines, and hers too.