In the middle of the afternoon I couldn’t see any stars, especially shooting stars, but I knew they were there.

Here’s what I’m asking for, Cecilia Payne, I thought.

No complications.

No defects.

No missing chromosomes. No extra chromosomes. No syndromes.

I knew Universe Deals went two ways, and I knew I needed to do something for Cecilia Payne, too. Do something important for her, so she could do something important for me. The most important. It would be like putting something good into the stirring soup of the universe until it swirled and swirled its way back to you. Before, when I made the deal with Rosalind Franklin, I used the papier-mâché projects we were doing in art class. I sculpted a tall, spiraling ladder of DNA. It turned out sort of flaky and droopy, despite working my absolute hardest on it, but I painted Rosalind’s name a bunch of times on the inside, like she was holding up the whole thing. And she did. Mom got better.

So what about this time? My history book was at the foot of my bed, open to the page on Eleanor Roosevelt. I’d picked her for my first-semester presentation because I couldn’t get that quote that Ms. Trepky had said out of my head, and when I really looked at pictures of Eleanor she seemed a bit odd-looking, just a little, and that made me want to know more about her. I was glad she was in my textbook, so lots of other odd-looking girls could read about her.

That was what I could do for Cecilia, I thought.

And that was what I could do for my Smithsonian Women in STEM contest project.

I will get you in my textbook, I told Cecilia.

What better way to teach people about Cecilia and raise awareness of her work? Ms. Trepky would help me. The contest deadline and the baby’s due date were right next to each other, practically on the same day, so if this idea worked it would be like the planets aligning, each one reflecting its light toward us at the same time. I’d get Cecilia into the textbook, then win the Smithsonian grand prize.

That is my promise.

I didn’t say it out loud, at least not yet, but that is the promise I made in my head to Cecilia Payne, PhD.

That is the wish I made.

I made the promise, and then my hands felt cold. Seniors had a lot more writing practice than I did, and writing a letter as good as the letters they might write wouldn’t be easy. Plus, I didn’t even know who made textbooks. Can you call the textbook people? Are there textbook people?

I would have to find out.

Because what if the baby was hurt or sick? What if Nonny got hurt? What if …

No, I wasn’t even going to think about that. Because I would write the best letter, write it over and over again until it sparkled so bright they couldn’t ignore it. They’d read it and see what I saw about Cecilia. And in return Cecilia would make sure Nonny and her baby were fine.