Time felt like putty, stretching, then scrunching, then stretching again. People—college people—kept looking at me, but I barely noticed. And with strangers, I’m not so great at knowing what their facial expressions mean anyway, so I pretended they were all very nice. They probably were.

I started worrying about campus security. What if I was breaking a rule I didn’t know about? What if someone reported me? What if a policeman came up and asked me what I was doing, or where my parents were?

And then someone did walk toward me.

Someone carrying a briefcase and wearing a brown suit, someone who had light hair the color of the peachy marble columns.

Someone whose picture I’d seen on the Knight-Rowell Publishing website a hundred times.

Here we go, Cecilia. Are you ready?

He was looking down at me, at my sign, one eyebrow raised. His lips opened to say something, but I spoke first.

“Mr. Trent Hickman?”

“Yes?” His voice was smooth and crisp, no gravel in it at all. “Are you—”

“I’m Libby Monroe. I’ve called your office a few times. I have to talk to you about something important.”

“I need to—”

“This will be very fast,” I said. “We use your textbook, Survey of Modern America, in my seventh-grade history class. It’s a very good textbook, but I believe that there is something important missing. Someone important.” The more I talked, the quieter Scared Me’s screams became. I was ready. I knew what I needed to say. I was going to win.

“Look, I really need to—”

“Her name is Cecilia Payne. She was a professor at Harvard. She discovered what stars are made of. And more people need to know about her. More girls in school. So they can be astronomers, too.”

“I have to get—”

“I’m writing a letter for a contest at the Smithsonian, about overlooked Women in STEM, and for part of it I need to do a project to teach people about Cecilia Payne, and I think the very best project would be to have her added into the textbook.”

Mr. Hickman sighed. “That’s great.”

“Yes, it is. So will you please include her in the next edition? And then I can write about it for the Smithsonian contest. It’s really important. She … she needs it.”

Mr. Hickman looked back and forth between me and the front door. Then he shrugged. “Duly noted. I’ve got to get inside now, kid.”

“So you’ll do it? You’ll put her in the book?” It was like my insides had become a flock of fluttering hummingbirds. I held out my envelope. “This … this is my letter. Well, two letters. One is my letter for the Smithsonian contest so far, so you … so you can read about Cecilia. And then a letter to you that explains everything. And it’s got my email address in it so you can email me and let me know and … and everything.”

He was already taking a step toward the door, but I held the envelope in front of him and he took it.