Once they get to the bottom, they stop and stare en masse, and I stare back because I can’t help it. It’s clear where the divide in their “blended” family is. The oldest is several heads taller than the others, with white-blond hair and long skinny legs, and the younger three are carbon copies of Emma: huge dark eyes, brown skin, and black hair with straight bangs. I should say hi, but my throat unfortunately has all the moisture of Mars, and no words are coming out. My mind begins churning out facts the way it does whenever I’m nervous. Neutron stars can spin at a rate of six hundred rotations a second. There are one hundred thousand million stars in the Milky Way. Footprints on the moon will be there for a hundred million years.

“Girls?” Simon prompts.

There’s a chorus of Hi, Masons. Blondie is maybe twelve or thirteen, wearing a tennis skirt and a faded tank top along with a serious scowl that lets me know exactly how pleased she is to meet me. The next oldest is probably in second or third grade, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, most of her front teeth missing. Then there are the two little ones. I haven’t spent nearly enough time around little kids to know how old they might be, but the youngest looks barely past baby age and is clutching a faded pink blanket.

“Nova, Hazel, Zoe, and Audrey.” Emma introduces them slowly, but their names flow through my brain like water through a sieve. I’ve got to get better at names. The three youngest smile. The oldest scowls even harder at the floor.

“I’m Mason,” I say awkwardly, because awkward is my default, and they obviously already know my name. They painted it in glitter letters, although I’m guessing from the scowl on Blondie’s face that she had nothing to do with it. I tug at the ends of my hair. I desperately need a brush.

“Why did no one tell us you have girl hair?” the second to youngest blurts out. “And why don’t you have a family anymore?”

“Zoe!” Simon says. “Long hair isn’t only for girls; you know that. And your other questions I’ll talk to you about later.” He turns to me, shrugging apologetically. “I’m sorry, Mason.”

“It’s okay,” I mumble, but my vision is starting to get spotty. It takes everything in my power to not mess with my hair again.

Kate/Kaitlin chuckles nervously behind me. “Kids! So precocious.”

“We made your sign,” the second to oldest says. “Nova didn’t want to. She had to stop listening to her music and she was soooo mad—”

“Hazel!” Nova and Simon say at the exact same moment. Nova’s neck is turning splotchy.