“Because you already are.” Her hazel eyes glow with warmth and certainty.

I mull over her words and wonder if she’s right. Could I handle whatever truths might emerge? Maybe I could — and I have supportive, caring parents who will love me no matter what. And what if I learn good things, meaningful things? Things that inform my sense of self — or even things that connect me to relatives who want to know me? I think about the story Sam created in Starworld and wonder for the umpteenth time if I come from a musical family . . . If I share traits with them. . . . If they want to know me. . . . Any or all of those things would be incredible.

“I don’t know how to thank you. You’re . . .” I shake my head. “I’ve never known anyone like you.”

She ducks her head; I’ve either pleased her or embarrassed her — or both. “It’s not one of the health screening ones. It’s about ethnic background, mostly, but you can enter the database to find DNA matches, if you want to.”

I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “This is perfect. This is just what I needed, and I don’t know if I ever would have had the guts to do it alone.”

Her cheeks flush as she smiles at me. “I hope it brings you good things.”

“Me too.”

Sam gathers up her trash and finishes her water. “I’m sorry — I told my mom I’d be home by eleven. I have to get going.”

“Oh, of course,” I say, tossing napkins onto the tray and standing up. We throw out our garbage and head back into the night. “Can I reimburse you for the test?”

She shakes her head as we approach the car. “Consider it a birthday gift.”

“Thank you.” I pull her into a hug and laugh as she staggers a little, obviously surprised.

“You’re welcome,” she says breathlessly.

The ride home is quiet, although I know there’s nothing quiet about what’s going on in our heads. When Sam pulls into my driveway, I turn to her. “Thank you,” I tell her again. “Thank you for being . . . well, you.”

She stutters on a reply; I’ve probably tripped her robot circuits or something. But it’s just minutes before eleven and I don’t want to make her late, so I climb out of the car. “Good luck with your mom,” I say, leaning in for a moment. “Let me know how it goes, okay?”

“I will,” she says. “Thanks again for everything.”

It seems crazy that she’s thanking me, when she’s the one who has done so much for me. I watch her drive off, hoping nothing terrible is in store for her at home.

Inside, my dad is in the living room watching something on the History Channel. “Hey, sweetie,” he says when I come in. “How was the show?”