Amelia laughed again. “And marshmallow Peeps are her favorite food. She has them hidden all over her house, and she binges on them.” She was enjoying this. It seemed justified. Harmless payback for past heartbreak.

Casey took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Now, what about her friend?”

Amelia ran her thumb up and down the handle of her mug. She didn’t know much about Connor Gup. He was undeniably cute. He played soccer. He was popular. Someone who lived and breathed in a world unlike hers. She was not in his orbit, not even close.

“Let’s call him Ronnie Wayne Valentine,” said Casey. “He always wears boxer shorts with hearts on them. Pink boxers with red hearts.”

“And,” said Amelia, eager to add something, “he has a heart tattoo that says I love myself.”

“On his butt,” said Casey, his voice rising, relishing this last contribution. “Oh, and best of all, he’s still a member of the official Lego fan club.” He smiled, pleased, and Amelia noticed that his smile was uneven, curving up on one side more than the other.

Their game wound down and they sat quietly, hunched forward, elbows on the table, heads bent slightly toward each other. Amelia experienced a feeling of being included, of being part of something with someone her own age, something she hadn’t felt since Natalie had left for France. A shift in the sunlight falling across the tabletop underscored the change inside her.

Suddenly Louise filled the window, her arms outstretched, her hands open, her fingers splayed. Her eyes got as big as coins, then she pointed to her watch. Her gestures and expression were easily interpreted: Are you coming back? What’s taking so long?

“Oh!” said Casey, jumping up. “I forgot, I said I’d help with a kids’ class.” He rushed off.

Amelia slipped down from her stool. She scurried, following Casey to the entrance. As she moved through the tables, she struggled into her jacket.

“Let’s do this again,” said Casey, in flight, over his shoulder.

“Okay.”

At the door, he turned around, facing her. “I mean, making up stories for people. Well, and having lunch, too.”

“Yes and yes,” said Amelia.

8 • Dr. Cotton

The rest of her day at the clay studio passed quickly, as if someone had taken the hands on the big clock above the door and spun them around a few times. A children’s class had come and gone, Amelia had made another rabbit, and then, before she knew it, she was walking home in the late, dim afternoon carrying the promise of meeting Casey again on Monday.

That night, in bed, Amelia felt particularly happy—and content and something else. Something more. Something hard to put into words. Now the coming week had shape to it. Maybe her real life was finally beginning.

After her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she could see Dr. Cotton on the shelf across the room. Dr. Cotton was a stuffed lamb with black plastic glasses, whom she’d had all her life. When she was little, he was her security object and went everywhere she did. Over the years he’d grown drab and limp and pilly, and now he stayed put, but she couldn’t bear to get rid of him.