At the top of the box, on a mound of packing material, is a colored-pencil drawing done on a large piece of thick card stock. A deep-blue sky studded with sparkling stars fades at the bottom into an ocean. On the left, waves crash onto the beach Sam once made for me in Starworld, with crystals hanging from trees to cast rainbows over the waves. A robot that must be the Fairy Godbot stands beneath the shelter of the branches, looking out over the ocean.

I flip it over to find a message scrawled on the back.

Zoe,

I hope you can forgive me for a lot of things, including the delay on the fulfillment of the third quest: the most perfect treasure in all of Starworld. I always knew what it was, but it’s important to me that you see it, too.

Thank you, Zoe. I will always be grateful for your friendship.

*unlocks the door in the sky*

*flies Humphrey through in search of the next adventure*

*leaves door open*

Sam

Something shifts sharply in my chest as I remember how happy her messages used to make me. She gave me laughter when I was hurting. Company when I was lonely. Adventure when I felt trapped. Love when I was riddled with self-doubt.

I never dreamed she would fulfill the third quest. I never thought I’d hear from her again.

I’m glad about so many things. Glad she left Portland. Glad she sounds okay. Glad she doesn’t hate me.

Mostly, though, I’m glad I knew her.

I set the card down on my windowsill, peeking through the blinds out over the baseball diamond. A group of boys dressed as various food items gallops toward my building. The hot dog — a tenor from my a cappella group named Miles Parker — attempts a cartwheel and lands on his ass in the wet leaves, making me laugh. It’s me he’s coming for, and I’m reminded I need to hurry to change for the Halloween party. Fortunately my mustard bottle costume means I won’t have to bother with makeup.

I turn and set the box on my bed. It’s light; it seems to be filled mostly with packing peanuts. I finally find a flat object inside, wrapped in layers of newspaper. I peel it away, sheet by sheet, filled with anticipation to finally know the answer to the question that has haunted me for nearly a year: What is Starworld’s most perfect treasure?

When I pull off the last sheet of paper, an ornate silver oval is revealed, the back of which matches the vanity tray set she gave me for my eighteenth birthday. She held back one of its pieces?

When I turn it over, I find my own image looking back at me.

My breath catches as I realize what she’s done.

Oh, Sam.