When I got to the copper beech tree, Ziggy Karlo was waiting for me cross-legged on the longest branch. He was wearing an orange Dungeons & Dragons T-shirt and green corduroys with red bandanna patches on the knees. Matthew the ferret was curled on top of his head like a strange white cap.

“Hey,” said Ziggy.

“Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good,” said Ziggy. “Except for the fact that there’s this nosy neighbor girl who keeps spying on me. She climbs up this tree right here, and she watches everything I do.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling my cheeks redden.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I guess not,” I said. “I guess I didn’t think you could see me.”

“Well, I did see you,” said Ziggy. “I saw you every time. Looking down at me. Staring like I was some kind of freak. And I didn’t appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel weird.”

“You didn’t make me feel weird,” said Ziggy. “I don’t need to be made to feel weird. I am weird. I am an entirely different kind of creature from most people around here. And for your information, I’m used to people staring at me. Everyone at my old school stared at me. The kids in this neighborhood stare at me. And now you stare at me too.”

“I wasn’t staring at you,” I said, suddenly breathless because of how hard my heart was beating.

Ziggy narrowed his eyes at my lie.

“Well,” I amended, “I mean, I guess I was staring at you. But not in the way you think. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s just that I like watching people. I like how your nana talks to you. I like how she hugs you and makes you things to eat and takes the snarls out of your hair. It’s beautiful.”

“You think my nana is beautiful?” asked Ziggy, looking at me sideways.

I nodded.

“I think she’s beautiful too,” he admitted. “She has always been an exquisite matriarch.”

“You use interesting words,” I told him.

“I do?”

“Yes,” I said. “Just now, you used the words exquisite matriarch. That’s beautiful. You have a good vocabulary. You told Buzz and John-John that fairies have diaphanous wings, and I have never heard a person use the word diaphanous before. It’s an unusual word. I like it.”

“I like it too,” said Ziggy.

We were both silent for a few moments, just watching each other and wondering.

“Anyway,” I said, sighing, “I’m sorry I made you feel like I was staring at you. I’ll go home now if you want me to. I won’t bother you anymore.”

I took a deep breath and turned to go. Trowbridge Road stretched in front of me with its row of tall Victorian houses, each with its own closed door. I started walking.

“Wait a second,” said Ziggy suddenly.

I whirled around. “What?”

“I was just thinking. If you would be willing to sit with me in this tree, I feel like perhaps I would rather enjoy it.”

“Do you mean that?”

“I never say anything I don’t mean,” said Ziggy. “That’s one of the many peculiar things about me that most people don’t like. It’s unfortunate. Anyway, I think this branch is big enough for two people to sit together, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling myself blush with the happiness of a wish coming true. “I think we’d fit just fine.”

“Do you want a hand?” He leaned down from the branch and offered me one.

“No thank you,” I said. “I’ve been up this tree so many times, I could climb it with my eyes closed.”

“Show me,” said Ziggy.

I closed my eyes and reached up the trunk with the palms of my hands until I found the first burl. I pulled myself up and found my foothold and then reached up for the next one, and the next one. I pulled myself up on a branch and put one leg over, then leaned on my belly and made my way around to the thickest branch, where there was a wide notch exactly the right size for my body. I leaned against the trunk, opened my eyes, and sighed.

“Voilà,” I said.

Ziggy looked over at me and smiled. His teeth were crooked. The summer sun shone through the leaves and made his long red hair even more brilliant. Nana Jean sat on the wicker chair. She rocked back and forth the way a woman might do if she had a baby in her arms. She took a pin out of her bun and let the silver hair fall loose around her shoulders. Then she leaned her head against the back of the rocking chair and closed her eyes. The breeze blew her hair below and the leaves above.

“It’s so peaceful up here,” I said.

“It is,” agreed Ziggy. “But it’s nothing compared to the ninth dimension.”

“What’s the ninth dimension?”

“It’s a place you can only go if you are magical,” said Ziggy.

“Magical?”

“Like you and me.”

“I don’t know any magic.”

“Yes, you do. I can tell by the way you climbed up with your eyes closed. You’re not like other kids. You are like me. A nomad. Born to wander to the ninth dimension and then back to earth. But first we have to cast a spell on each other.”

“What kind of spell?”

“An inspiration spell. Inspiration means to breathe, and before we wander we have to weave our inspiration together so we don’t get separated. I will blow my air at you and you will inhale, and then you will blow your air at me and I will inhale, and this way our breath will be woven together and we will be ready to travel.”

Mother didn’t like the idea of accidentally inhaling other people’s air. Our own breath passes over our lips, which is close to the tongue and the inside of the mouth, a sure path to disgustingness. The mouth was off-limits. If I ever stuck my finger in there, bit off a hangnail, picked a piece of carrot from between my teeth, or, worse than that, if my thumb found my mouth, an old habit, Mother would tell me to disinfect with bleach. But now there was no bleach around. Mother was far away. All there was in the whole world was this copper beech tree and the ferret and this strange red-haired boy.

“In order for the spell to work correctly, we both have to inhale and exhale as deeply as possible. Here . . .” He took a strip of Wrigley’s Spearmint gum out of his shirt pocket, unwrapped it, broke it, and gave one half to me. “We should chew this until our breath feels minty. Minty breath is colder, and it will make the magic run faster.”

This sounded logical.

I took my half and chewed.

Ziggy chewed too.

Soon, the air around us smelled not only like ferret and bark and leaves, but like spearmint, and all we could hear was the sound of our chewing, and the ferret chattering from the top of Ziggy’s head, and then the birds chirping, and Nana Jean humming with her eyes closed, with the quiet backdrop of the neighborhood swirling around us.

We swung our feet back and forth and watched Nana Jean put one hand through her hair and across her forehead.

“Maybe we should wait until she goes inside,” I suggested. “Just in case she looks up or something.”

“Okay,” said Ziggy. “Nana Jean usually has to go in every hour or so. She says she can’t hold it like she used to. She wears special old lady diapers called Depends. This is what you call apropos, which is a Greek word meaning appropriate. Now here is a non sequitur, which means I am changing the subject. When you inspire me, you have to imagine the whole universe coming out of your mouth like a spiderweb shooting right into my mouth. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know,” I told him, after a long pause. “I’ve never imagined the universe coming out of my mouth like a spiderweb. I’m not even sure I can picture that. I guess I’m just going to have to give it a try and find out.”

“Yes,” said Ziggy. “I guess you will just have to try. I’m glad you’re imaginative and brave. Imagination and bravery are very good qualities to have in the ninth dimension. It helps with things like dragons and other mystical beasts.”

“I’ve never been afraid of dragons,” I said.

The ferret climbed from Ziggy Karlo’s head to his shoulder, and from his shoulder through his T-shirt and onto his lap.

“He’s cute,” I said. “How long have you had him?”

“Jenny gave him to me as a birthday present when I turned eight, and he has never left my side since then. His name is Matthew. He is an albino ferret. He’s also my vestigial twin. You can pet him if you want.”

I held out one hand, and the long white creature sniffed at me. Then he grabbed my finger with his claw and took a bite.

“Hey,” I said. “Stop it.”

I started to pull my finger away, but the ferret hung on tight. I scratched him behind his velvety ears, and he put his chin on Ziggy’s knee and closed his eyes like a puppy.

“He likes you,” Ziggy said.

“All animals like me.”

“That will be good for wandering in the ninth dimension. I didn’t tell you this, but I am part animal.”

“I’m part animal too,” I said.

“I knew it,” said Ziggy. “That’s why you’re so good at climbing trees. You’re probably part squirrel. Or possibly crow.”

“Maybe both,” I suggested.

“Maybe,” agreed Ziggy. He raised one eyebrow and looked at me thoughtfully.

Ziggy placed Matthew farther out on the branch. The creature circled a few times, curled up, and put his white tail over his nose. I petted him quietly for a while, and then I smelled my hand. It was musky. Not quite as strong as skunk but wild and sharp. Mother wouldn’t like it. I wiped my hand on my knees.

Nana Jean lifted her head from the back of the rocking chair, smoothed out her skirt, and rose to her feet.

“Look,” I said, happily. “Your nana is going inside to pee.”

“Huzzah,” said Ziggy. “Are you ready to do the inspiration spell?”

“I was born ready.”

It took some maneuvering, but I knew how to keep my balance. I swung one leg over the branch so that I was facing him. Then I put my two hands in front of me and opened my mouth.

Ziggy took a deep breath and leaned forward, just a little, just so he could get better aim. He closed his eyes, like he was gathering the universe inside himself, and then he blew a whooshing arrow of minty, ferrety air straight at me. I inhaled quickly, imagining the universe swirling into my lungs.

“Did you get any?”

“I think so,” I said.

“That’s good,” said Ziggy. “Now you inspire me.”

I took a deep breath, leaned forward, and blew as hard as I could toward Ziggy’s face. I imagined stars spiraling from my mouth and swirling into Ziggy. I imagined mothers and fathers and grandparents and all the people who had ever been born diving through the air in a silvery cloud of spirits.

Ziggy swallowed and swayed a little, his eyes fluttering.

“That was very good,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said. “So what should we do next?”

“I guess I should ask your name,” said Ziggy. “If you and I are going to wander the universe together, I should know what to call you in case one of us gets lost.”

“People call me June Bug,” I told him. “But my real name is June Jordan.”

“June Bug is better,” he said. “It’s more unusual, which is better for a nomad. Why did they name you June Bug? Were you born in June?”

“No,” I said. “I was born in February.”

“I was born in October, which is the rainy season in the ninth dimension. No one even knows about the ninth dimension but Jenny and you. And Matthew of course, because he’s a ferret and all ferrets are clairvoyant. You should probably know that I have the ability to move objects with my mind. This is not unusual for nomads of the ninth dimension, but it is unusual in the world of mortals. The paranormal term for this talent is telekinesis. That’s a good five-syllable word. You could get a lot of Scrabble points if you knew how to spell it, especially if you got a triple-word score. One time when I was six months old, Jenny was having a party and when she came into the kitchen, I had three open Budweiser cans spinning above my crib. Like a mobile. It was cool. I can still do that.”

“Just with beer cans?”

Ziggy laughed. “I like you,” he said. “You’re funny.”

“Everyone in school says I’m too serious.”

“They must not know you very well,” said Ziggy.

“They don’t.”

“People at my school don’t know me very well, either,” Ziggy said.

“Why?” I asked him.

“I don’t know,” said Ziggy. “Probably because I barely ever go.”

“Are you sick a lot?”

“No,” said Ziggy. “Jenny and I just can’t deal sometimes.”

“Oh,” I said.

I looked over at him. His eyes were far away so I didn’t tell him about the winter mornings when I had to get myself ready for school while Mother lay in bed, the blankets pulled up to her chin, how I rose in the darkness to clean and dress myself, to gather my things for school, and then tiptoed downstairs to wait at the empty kitchen table for Uncle Toby to arrive with breakfast.

I didn’t tell him how in the mornings I watched the clock drip from one minute to the next like melted wax falling from a candle — 6:30, 6:45, 6:50 — until I finally heard the keys in the back door and then Uncle Toby was there, stomping the snow off his work boots and pulling my breakfast out of a paper bag. Sometimes he would reach over to rub my back or push a stray lock of hair behind my ear. I always liked that, because his hands, although they were hard and calloused, looked a lot like Daddy’s. When I was full, I would put down my fork and curl my hand inside his.

I put my hand on the branch near Ziggy’s hand.

“You look like you want something,” Ziggy said.

“I do want something, but it feels funny to ask.”

“You can ask me anything,” said Ziggy. “I won’t do it if I don’t want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” said Ziggy. “I am sure.”

“Will you hold my hand? For just a second?”

“You want me to hold your hand?”

I thought about Uncle Toby’s hands and Daddy’s hands, and I thought about how my own hand felt nestled inside theirs, warm and safe like an egg.

“Yes,” I said. “If you don’t mind.”

Ziggy thought about it.

“I don’t mind,” he said.

I put out my hand.

Ziggy took it carefully.

His fingernails were ragged, chewed almost to the quick.

We sat side by side on the branch looking at our hands and not saying anything.

Trowbridge Road stretched beneath our feet.

Someone was playing an old Beatles record. We could hear it, smoky and fragile, rising up to the branches.

There were other things we could only hear properly with our eyes closed. A baseball hitting a glove. The sound of Mr. Moniker’s crazy old dog barking at squirrels. And then farther down the road, the sounds of neighborhood kids laughing. I heard them before I could see them coming. Heather Anne was riding on the handlebars of Lucy’s pink banana-seat bike, and Buzz and John-John Crowley were swerving back and forth, trying to crash into them.

“You stop that, Buzz Crowley,” scolded Lucy when Heather Anne almost went flying.

They hollered all the way to Nana Jean’s house, where they circled around like two-wheeled vultures.

“Where is he?” asked John-John.

“He’s inside,” Buzz said.

“What do you think he’s doing in there?” asked Heather Anne from her place on the handlebars.

“Probably playing with his stinky rat,” said Lucy.

Ziggy stiffened at the word rat.

“Probably flouncing around like a fairy,” said Buzz, standing up on his pedals to get a better look at the house.

Buzz laughed. John-John looked over at his brother, and then he laughed too.

Ziggy looked at me. His eyes were sad and scared.

“Did you see his hair?” asked John-John. “Did you see how long his hair is?”

“Yeah, we saw it,” said Lucy.

“And we smelled it too,” crowed Heather Anne.

Everyone laughed until the screen door slammed and Nana Jean marched onto the porch and down the steps to tower on the sidewalk with her hands on her hips. She glared at all four children until they turned their bikes around and pedaled as hard as they could down the street, Lucy with Heather Anne on the handlebars and Buzz and John-John on their own bikes, riding away as fast as they could.

Nana Jean stayed on the sidewalk until they were out of sight. Then she sighed, wiped the palms of her hands across her dress, and rolled her silver hair back into a bun.

“Ziggy?” she called out into the neighborhood. “Lunchtime, Ziggy. Come on back inside now.”

Ziggy’s face was red. “Did you hear them?” he asked, his voice wavering. “Did you hear what they said about me?”

“Yes,” I said. “I heard what they said about you.”

Ziggy tried to drag one hand through his hair, but he couldn’t quite do it because of the snarls. He smelled his fingers and then dropped his hand down into his lap.

“Do you think my hair smells bad?” he asked. His eyes were wide.

I leaned over and breathed in though my nose. He smelled like ferret.

“No,” I said. “I like the way your hair smells.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.”

“Good,” said Ziggy. “The boys at my school were always saying mean things. And I never knew if they were true or not.”

“Ziggy!” called Nana Jean again.

“I need to go,” said Ziggy, his face still red like he had been slapped. “If you come back tomorrow, I can show you how to use the psychic powers granted to you by birth as a nomad of the ninth dimension.”

“I would like that very much,” I said.

Ziggy put Matthew back on top of his head.

“Remember, June Bug,” he said. “There is always more to this world than what you can see with your eyes.”

“I believe you,” I said.

Ziggy smiled his crooked smile.

“Ziggy!” called Nana Jean again.

“I’ve got to go now.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be right here waiting for you,” said Ziggy.

Ziggy waved his hands with a flourish, weaving invisible patterns into the air. Then he grinned, swung to a lower branch, and made his way down.

The copper leaves rustled as he descended until he was standing on firm ground. Then he made his way across the lawn and back onto the porch. Nana Jean put her arm around him, kissed his cheek, and walked him inside, where there was a bowl of hot cheese ravioli waiting for him. I could smell it, the delicious steam rising from the open windows of Nana Jean’s kitchen, salty and warm as a miracle.