“Ew,” I said.

“Tell me about it. Besides, maybe I don’t miss Blair 2.0, who was always sad and wouldn’t eat. But the first Blair . . .” Jade grinned. “She was so fun. Wasn’t she?”

“The most fun,” I agreed. I felt tears poking my eyes. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry—

“That time we were the Sanderson sisters for Halloween? Or the year we couldn’t find sleds so we used Mom’s baking trays, even though our butts could barely fit on them?” She shook her head. “Being her sister was like being . . .”

“On an adventure,” I finished.

“Exactly. I thought for a while that we could get that first Blair back,” said Jade. “If we—I don’t know. Just pushed through. Like running a marathon or something. If we could just get rid of that stupid scale . . .”

The scale, shattered at the bottom of the garbage can.

“You,” I said. “You threw that scale out!”

Jade squeezed her eyes shut. “Every morning, that thing would decide her mood for the day. Which Blair we were gonna get. I saw her on it in the bathroom one night at one a.m. when I had to pee. Who checks their weight at one a.m.?”

“I can’t believe you did that,” I said. “She’d kill you.”

“It was dumb, though. One thing can’t fix everything. And besides, we’re never going to get the old Blair back.” She flopped down on her bed and closed her eyes. “We’re going to get Blair 3.0 now. The one who’s been through all of this craziness. Who knows what she’ll be like?”

“What do you mean? Of course we can get her back. That’s why she went away.”

“No, it’s not. She went away so we can go forward, not backward.”

Blair, crying over cupcakes, and Jade, feeling left out, and me, lying and deceiving and sneaking around. We’d all been so different this summer. We were all more than the sliver of moon you can see from Earth.

“So don’t do anything stupid, Abby,” Jade said. “Or if you do . . . at least tell me first.”

Later that day, I rode my bike to the library. I wanted to check in and see how Harriet’s petition was coming, and besides, I was trying to avoid Mom and Dad. Every time one of them spotted me, I had to bring a guest bottled water or clean towels.

But as I coasted up to the library, I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was Sophie, signing the petition at an empty table.

“Hey,” I said, surprised. Sophie had never been a big library person.

She looked up, equally as stunned. “Abby. Hey.” She waved the pen at me. “I’d ask you to sign, but you were probably first in line. It, um . . . it would suck. If the library had to close down. I know you like it here a lot,” she said. She was holding her own helmet in one hand, and I saw her bike locked to a lamppost a few feet away.