“I think Mom has everything she needs,” Dad says. I think he’s right, and that the pretty night sky she painted for us was her view from a very nice porch, and that when she gets back someday—in many, many months, Dad says—she’ll sit on this porch with us and like it. Love it. Think it’s beautiful.
And if she isn’t able to do that, that will be okay too. Because we will enjoy it ourselves.
When everyone’s asleep, I sneak downstairs. We’re all so tired, me included, but I have one more thing to do.
It’s black, the sky. Not dark blue, not dark gray, full-on for real black. Pricked with stars.
I know I’m not in the closet, and in the real world, I’m not tall enough to reach the sky. But I have a feeling, this once, that the world will surprise me.
I stand on my tiptoes. I get the star from my pocket and reach my hands high into the air. I suck in my stomach and stop breathing and use every bit of concentration I have to focus on getting taller, reaching more. My legs ache, my armpits feel a pull, and I close my eyes.
I let go of the star.
I put it back in the sky.
I come down to my heels and lower my arms before opening my eyes.
It felt like I was sky-high. It felt like I reached high enough to put that star where it belongs.
And I swear, when I look up, squinting at the patterns the stars make all over the sky, complicated patterns Dad promised to teach me one day, I swear I can see my star glinting in the sky, before it fades into the rest of the chaos.
A tiny bit of magic, right here in the real world.
Acknowledgments
All books are collaborations, but this one feels especially like a shared accomplishment with my amazing editor, Anica Rissi. I can’t thank you enough for taking time with this story and helping me find my way. To say I couldn’t have done it without you would be a massive understatement.
Thank you as well to my wonderful agent, Victoria Marini, who I depend on for so many things, including wisdom and steadiness and generosity and openness. Knowing you loved Silly like I did made writing this possible.
A very special thank-you to Susan Van Metre and Caron Levin. I created the character of Silly and found the seeds of the book in your class, because of the prompts you gave us. What an enormous gift those fifteen minutes of writing every week were. I’m so grateful I wrote outside my comfortable little box and found something new in your class.
Thank you as always to my mom and dad for making sure I loved books and for always supporting my crazy dreams. And thank you to Andy, Jenn, Ellie, and Amy for supporting me from across the ocean.
Thank you to Amy Ewing, Jess Verdi, Caela Carter, Alyson Gerber, Alison Cherry, Lindsay Ribar, Rachele Alpine, and Chelsey Flood for reading Silly’s story, challenging me, and sharing in my excitement.
Thank you to wonderful librarian Ally Watkins for taking the time to recommend all kinds of books to me that helped me figure out how to write this book.
Thank you to the incredible group of people who do the magic of making a book an Actual Book: Katherine Tegen, Alexandra Arnold, Alana Whitman, Rosanne Romanello, Valerie Shea, Bethany Reis, Amy Ryan, Heather Daugherty, Barb Fitzsimmons, and so many other wondrous people on the Katherine Tegen Books team.
A special thank-you to Julie McLaughlin for her gorgeous cover illustration. There’s nothing like seeing something so beautiful associated with my words.
Thank you to my friends who have been another kind of family to me. For the times you’ve listened, for the times you’ve saved me, for the times you’ve made me laugh, for the times you’ve inspired me, for the times you’ve made me grateful, for the times I’ve known you’re there: Julia Furlan, Anna Bridgforth, Honora Javier, Pallavi Yetur, Mike Mraz, Mark Souza, Brandy Colbert, Kristen Kittscher, Mandy Adams Wolf, Janet Zarecor, Taylor Shann, Meghan Shann, Kea Gilbert, Tracey Roiff, Leigh Poulos, Lindsay Frost, Lizzie Moran, Paul Bausch, and Mary Thompson.
Thank you for your continued love and support: the Spokes Family, the Ross Family, the Haydu Family, the Scallon/Dougherty Family.
And thank you to Frank Scallon. You make writing, and about a million other things, possible.