Alma had evidence, but she didn’t really know what to do with it.
What should I do? What should I do? All day the question played over and over in her mind.
The most obvious first step was to go back to the Fifth Point and talk to the ShopKeeper. He was the one who had given her the quintescope. He was the one who had told her to save the Starling. But why? How had he known about the Starling in the first place? What was the gold light that the quintescope showed? And how, exactly, was she supposed to save a fallen star?
She would go to the Fifth Point that afternoon, she decided. She would go and ask the ShopKeeper everything.
The next thing she had to do, Alma thought, was check to see if the Starling had returned to the crater. Alma hoped that she had, because she couldn’t save the Starling if she didn’t know where she was. But what if she hadn’t? How would Alma find her? And how had she disappeared so suddenly, so completely?
At lunch, she saw Shirin sitting at a table full of girls. They were talking loudly and giggling and every single one of them looked so happy and easy and light.
Shirin sat at the end of the table. She was twirling a braid with one hand, twirling it fast, and holding a slice of pizza with the other. She was smiling at the other girls. She was laughing when they laughed. She looked like she belonged with them. Alma wondered why Shirin had come to the Astronomy Club alone when she had an entire table of friends.
She wanted to talk to Shirin. Shirin had seen something, and she didn’t think it was a meteor. Maybe Alma could tell her about the Starling. Maybe they could work together. Maybe they would become friends.
But the longer Alma watched her, the more convinced she became that she could never, ever tell Shirin about the Starling. Shirin was too popular and too pretty and too perfect. And the truth sounded too crazy.
There were other places to look for information, of course. There was the library, but Alma had never been to the Four Points Library. She had gone to the Fifth Point and into the woods, but she didn’t think she was ready to go to a new, unpredictable public place.
She thought about calling James. He used to help her with her schoolwork all the time. But she hadn’t spoken to him since winter break, and she had never called him on the phone. Or she could ask the Science teacher, Mrs. Brisa. Mrs. Brisa knew so much—everything, it seemed—and she was always so excited when students asked questions. But what, exactly, could she ask James or Mrs. Brisa?
No, she had to start at the Fifth Point. It was the ShopKeeper who had the answers she needed. No one else could help her.