For a long time again, we don’t say anything. I’m thinking about what the cloud shepherd said about my weapon needing to be my gift. But my mind keeps wandering.

“Do you think, if I leave, Bibi will be your best friend?”

As I say it, I realize what I’m hoping for. I’m hoping Germ will say, Of course not! I could never have a best friend besides you! But Germ only sighs. “You’re both my friends,” she finally says.

“Well,” I offer slowly, uncertainly, “it’s just maybe you feel like she gets you better now than me anyway… now that we’re older,” I say. This is as close as I’ve come to telling Germ my true feelings about things, and my heart pounds.

Germ, exasperated, sits up, cross-legged, her face flushed as she looks at me. “It’s true, there are pieces of me Bibi gets that you don’t. And there are a LOT of pieces of me that you get that she doesn’t.” She glances at the TV, and then at the ceiling, then at me, at a loss. “I’m changing. I can’t help it. I know you’ve never really wanted to grow up, or change, or make new friends. I sometimes think maybe it’s because you never got to really be a kid, with your mom and everything. Or maybe it’s that since you never had her cheering you on, you’re afraid to take chances, you know? I think I understand. I do.

“But I just… Rosie, I think maybe you can’t stop time.” She pauses, and corrects herself. “Well, maybe there’s some witch who can. But you can’t. We’re growing up; we can’t stop it.”

As little as she likes to talk about deep things, when she does, Germ is almost always right. She goes on, interpreting my silence the way she usually does—as permission to keep talking. She takes a breath as if to say the thing that’s hardest.

“It’s just sometimes…” She hesitates. “I feel like I have to pick between you and growing up. And between you and everyone else. It’s not really about Bibi. It’s about me and you. I can’t promise we’ll ever build frog hotels again or things like that. We may not always be like we have been.”

She looks at me, and tears glisten in her eyes. She feels bad for me, because she’s never really been this honest with me about what she thinks. And it doesn’t feel good to hear it.

Outside, the wind is blowing and we both look out, fearful what the night could bring. I pick at the hem of my shirt, lips sealed tight.