“She was acting like every other girl her age! To be perfectly honest, when she started dressing up, going out, taking life a little less seriously, I thought, Great! This will be good for her! When I first met the Vezina girls, Bridget was twelve. She was the most serious and responsible seventh grader I’d ever seen, an academic overachiever, determined to change the world. She was practically raising her sister, she had few friends, and I rarely saw her smile. She had many good qualities, don’t get me wrong, but she was such a stressed-out little girl! She once called me crying because she earned a C on a science quiz and wanted to be moved to a new family so she could attend a different school before some big test. I had to tell her we don’t recommend removal for reasons like that and suggested she just keep studying. Two weeks later, she called to tell me she’d earned an A on the exam, highest score in the class. She said she didn’t expect praise, she just thought I should know.”

“She sounds just like Joanie,” said Billy. “Joanie’s grades were always very important to her too. Anything below a B was a disaster.”

Nova smiled. If Bridget was “just like Joanie,” maybe Bridget and Joanie would like being sisters. A forever family. With Nova, Billy, and Francine.

And NASA Bear, of course.

“I’m not sure what Bridget was thinking when she ran away, nor can I say why she took Nova with her,” said Mrs. Steele, her voice wavering. “It was uncharacteristically irresponsible. I’m just glad…”

“You’re glad she’s with us now,” Francine said. “So are we.”

Mrs. Steele changed the subject to paperwork. Several minutes went by with no more mention of Bridget, so Nova continued upstairs, down the hall, past the TV room, and into her bedroom, where she stopped only long enough to grab Bridget’s Walkman and the tape before heading up to the attic. Thoughts were falling through her brain faster than shooting stars in the planetarium.

She was going to stay with the Wests.

For now.

But Bridget was still gone.

And Nova was confused.

She rested on her knees facing the round attic window and slipped the headphones over her ears. She hit Rewind and rocked back and forth while she waited for the click signaling that the tape had reached the beginning. She pressed Play. David Bowie filled her ears. Rocking back and forth, she could almost hear Bridget singing along.

Goose bumps trickled up her arms.

Bridget had sung “Space Oddity” to Nova so many times they felt like they’d written it, like it was theirs and theirs alone, not to be shared with the rest of the world.

“Ground Control to Major Tom…”