The stars were on a flyer—white and red and yellow and blue punctuating a black background. Gold letters crossed the paper sky.
You are made of elements and quintessence, the letters read. Learn more at Astronomy Club in the Science Lab after school on Thursday.
Elements and quintessence. Alma read the words again.
“Quintessence.” She said it out loud, even though she knew she shouldn’t talk to herself. Talking to herself had not made her any friends so far. Neither had weaving dried flowers and feathers into her long brown hair. Neither had having episodes in the middle of the hallway or dashing out of every class before anyone else had even gotten to their feet.
She didn’t know what quintessence meant, but she liked the way it sounded. It made her think of that bright stuff she imagined inside herself, her Alma-ness.
She touched the little stars, one after another. They were, of course, paper. But they seemed warm under her fingers, bright to her eyes.
Thursday was tomorrow, and the flyer was new, she could tell. Untouched, uncrumpled.
It was as if it had been put there just now.
“Put here for me,” Alma said to the stars.
Here was exactly what her mother had suggested, right in front of her.
Here was what her father meant by acclimating.
Here was something that could be done.
Alma pulled the flyer from the door, bit by careful bit. She folded it and tucked it into her schoolbag.
And for the first time in a long time, she felt her Alma-ness brighten instead of dim.
Alma felt herself spark.
There were stars shining at her back.