Nova imagined Mrs. Steele dressed the way Bridget used to, in a leopard-print top and a black leather skirt, with a dozen thick plastic neon-colored bangle bracelets, torn-up tights, and silver hoop earrings so big they touched her shoulders. Bridget always looked cool, like she could rock out with Madonna, but Mrs. Steele? Ridiculous!

Unable to get this picture out of her head, Nova let out a high screech, followed by three gasping yelps.

Mrs. Steele blanched. “Oh my God, is she choking?”

“That’s her laugh!” Francine stared at Mrs. Steele. “You’ve been her social worker for five years. Haven’t you heard her laugh before?”

“Goodness, no, I haven’t.”

Embarrassed, Nova smacked herself one-two-three-four times in the temple, mentally scolding herself for making so much noise. Gently, Billy moved her hand down, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Sit with us for a few more minutes. Then you can head upstairs, okay?”

She didn’t respond, but she did keep sitting. Francine sipped her coffee. Billy ate a sandwich. Mrs. Steele took notes while they talked. Nova stopped listening. Adult conversation was rarely worth listening to. She hummed and rocked as the tension left her body. Billy said they wanted to keep her. Besides, if Mrs. Steele had been planning to remove her today, it would have happened already. She could relax a little.

Now she just had to figure out how to tell Bridget where to find her without knowing where to send her letters. Maybe Mrs. Steele could give her the address. Nova wished she could talk so she could ask the Wests to let Bridget live with them, or ask Mrs. Steele to bring Nova to her for a visit. When they first went into foster care, they used to visit Mama sometimes. If Nova could visit Mama, why couldn’t she visit Bridget?

“…reevaluated at some point within the next year…,” Mrs. Steele was saying. “And that will be considered along with the results of her teacher’s testing…”

Nova shut her eyes and pictured herself from a distance. She was wearing a white astronaut’s suit with NASA stamped in blue across the right breast pocket. She was standing on the moon, staring out at the stars. She was alone. Where was Bridget?

Bridget was gone.

And Nova was angry.

Nova was angry because Bridget was gone.

She imagined herself stomping her feet in the moon dust, punching her fists against her own thighs, looking left and right for her missing sister. Bridget had to be there too. She had to! Nova certainly couldn’t have flown all the way to the moon alone.

“Tell me, Mrs. West, how is Nova doing in school?”