I wanted Nonny and Mom and Dad and, well, everyone, to look at me and see what I could fix, not what I needed to have fixed in me. I wanted it so bad it was like my aorta was constricting again. But not this time. This time: fixer, not fixed.

Just this once.

After I sent Knight-Rowell that email, I tried to go back to working on my letter, but that’s when the words started swirling around in my brain. I couldn’t focus. I kept seeing something else in my mind that distracted me.

I kept seeing Talia’s red face, and the way her shoulders hunched when they called her that name. Hunched like she’d been hit.

The first day they come up with a nickname like that, they think they’re so clever. I remember. But they’re not. I wanted to tell Talia that.

My brain felt as swirly as the Milky Way mess on my poster. I couldn’t figure out the right thing to do in this situation. Talia’s sad and mad face wouldn’t leave my mind. I could let it go and just keep smiling at her when she sat next to me in history class, but that didn’t seem like nearly enough. Something needed to be done. Something big, so she’d know she wasn’t alone. Something so that we’d be friends.

And the more I thought about it, the more the swirling in my brain turned into the beginning of an idea. It was a big idea.

An idea like one of our Hard Reading Words: audacious: a willingness to take surprisingly bold risks.

I don’t feel audacious, usually. But this idea was audacious. And maybe audacity was what it took to make friends.

I wondered if ideas were born the same way stars are, starting off small and collecting space clouds and dust until they have enough to burst open.

Silently I thanked Ms. Trepky for making Talia and me swap phone numbers and pulled my phone out of my backpack:

Hey, it’s Libby from school. About Dustin—I have an idea. I think you’ll like it.

SEND.

I lay back on my bed while I waited for her to respond, and I couldn’t help grinning.

Being audacious was going to be fun.

The Doctor That Isn’t Mine

A couple of days later Nonny had an appointment with the baby doctor.

And she said I could come.

When Mom picked me up after school, Nonny was in the passenger seat, waving at me while I ran to the car.

“How was school?” Mom asked.

“Great!” I said.

I didn’t tell her about the plan Talia and I had made together. In the library. During lunch. Our scheme was set to take place early on Monday morning.

Talia liked my idea. I was glad she liked it. It meant that maybe, eventually, she’d like the person who’d come up with it. The person who was going to put the plan into action with her.

Me.

I slung my backpack into the seat next to me, and we drove to the doctor’s office.