But even though there are painful memories, there will never be a day I don’t remember what it felt like when someone saw me for the first time, in spite of my determination to stay invisible, and wanted me in a way that was uncomplicated and true and kind. There will never be a day I’m not aware that she altered the course of my life simply by being herself and giving me the gift of her friendship.

She taught me so much.

I am not invisible.

I am not a robot.

So now I try to let myself be seen in small ways — by adding to the lexicon of f-bomb variations, or by sharing my drawings with people once in a while. I doodle gifts for my coworkers and painted a psychedelic moonscape for Dad’s flat. And even though all I’m doing for now is fixing other people’s math at an internship where my contributions are small, I know someday I’ll find a way to engineer rockets that send people to explore the real wonders of the cosmos, not just the galaxies I make up.

These are the ways I pay tribute to Zoe and to Starworld.

To the friend who changed me forever, and to the place that made it possible.

Epilogue — Zoe

October in Portland is true to form: rain, rain, and more rain, a vast swath of gray that frames a wide canvas of gold- and fire-splashed trees. Now, though, it’s dark as I hurry across the campus from the Performing Arts Building to my dorm. There is a Halloween party in a while, but first I have a package to open. I’ve been carrying it around for hours. Sam’s lush handwriting is unmistakable, and although I feel fairly steady where she’s concerned most of the time, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to open this in public.

In my room, I slip off my damp jacket and close my blinds, which takes a minute; my dorm room has a lot of windows. I would have been a lot more excited about Reed if my father had told me that residence halls included ones like this: a renovated 1920s cottage, complete with kitchen and fireplace and sun porch. The hours I spent envying my friends’ faraway college plans were a waste; I couldn’t love any college more than I love Reed. My classes are challenging, the Theater Department is amazing, and the student population is a study in diversity compared to high school. And free lunches with my dad, plus my curator mom nearby to help decorate my room . . . How lucky can one person get?

I set the box on my desk and reread the return address. Champaign, Illinois.

She did it. She broke away. She’s halfway across the country, doing exactly what she dreamed of doing.

I split the taped seal with scissors and pull the flaps open.