“Government orchestrated!” Mama liked to say. “All on a soundstage, babies, thanks to movie magic! Did you see the way the astronaut’s boots kicked up dirt? The way the flag waved? There’s no wind on the moon, girls! How was it waving? It was government orchestrated, that’s how! That means the government made it up, to trick us!”

Their mama thought a lot of things were government orchestrated.

“Nova, honey?” foster mother Francine called through the cracked-open bedroom door. “How about we go to the store and get you some school clothes? You’ve almost grown out of everything the last family sent.”

Most of what the last family had sent wasn’t even hers, but they needed it to seem like they’d been providing more than fraying sweaters and too-small stretch pants so they sent along a big cardboard box full of clothes their other foster daughters were growing out of. They kept the heavy winter coat they’d bought for Nova and all the slouch socks Bridget had given her for her twelfth birthday.

The only clothes in the box Nova would willingly wear were three pairs of pj’s, one pair of red overalls, and two T-shirts she’d inherited from her sister. The first had the words ONE SMALL STEP on the front with the moon landing date on the back, JULY 20, 1969. The second was from David Bowie’s 1978 World Tour, black with red and blue print, which they’d found at a thrift shop.

Nova’s other possessions included NASA Bear, Bridget’s Walkman and favorite mix tape, the Little People figure who looked like an astronaut, the one they’d stolen from a previous foster home where they had so many Fisher Price sets no one would notice, a small spiral-bound notebook, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, a few faded photographs, a box of sixty-four Crayola crayons, and a silver-banded mood ring with a sky-blue stone that didn’t change color anymore. Francine and Billy had given Nova a toy box—her first-ever toy box—in which she could keep her treasures. It was a large wooden crate with JOANIE ROSE stenciled across the top in flowery Carnation Pink letters.

“It belonged to our daughter when she was little,” Francine had explained. “Pink is Joanie’s favorite color. She’s so happy to have you here, Nova. She hated being the youngest and the only girl. Growing up with three big brothers was lonely, I think.”

James, Joseph, and John. Those were the three big brothers. Shortly after Nova arrived at the Wests’, Billy had pointed to a picture of the boys hanging on the wall above the television. “My three sons!” he’d said proudly. “Doctor James, Carpenter Joseph, and Recreation Director John.”