It’s not that I’ve become the pet of the boy in the movable chair. It’s just that we ride in his chair together.

He has a bag of peanuts in his backpack, and he shares them with me. Anytime one of the museum workers talks for too long or uses words that are too big, the boy reaches into the bag. One peanut for him, one peanut on the seat beside him for me. He even cracks the shells open for me. That’s the sign of a true friend. Did I mention peanuts are my favorite thing?

I stay next to him even when the field trip is drawing to a close and the teacher and the bus driver get the chair back into the field trip bus.

Of course, it has not rained (because I know weather better than the bus driver does), so the bus is warm and stuffy. While the children and the teachers open their windows, I climb down from the chair, but I stay under the seat in front of the boy where he can see me and I can see him.

And where I am still in range of thrown peanuts.

Once again, I have to hold on every time the bus starts, stops, or turns a corner.

The ride back to school is even noisier than the ride to the museum. Children are talking and laughing and singing songs, and the teachers are too tired to tell them to use their indoor voices. The children have all gotten cookies and candies from the gift shop and share with one another. The teachers all hide in the back of the bus.

When we reach school, the other children start getting off the bus first.

One of the children, who has not zipped her zippers or buckled her buckles, has picked up her pink sparkly backpack the wrong way, and suddenly everything that was in her backpack is now on the floor of the bus. The children who are still on the bus are helping her to gather up all the spilled notebooks and pencils and hair fasteners—all of which are also pink and sparkly. The children are blocking the way and I decide I’ve waited long enough.

“Thank you for the peanuts,” I tell the boy, even though I know he can’t understand me. But it’s always a good thing to be polite, no matter what.

I jump onto the seat in front of me, climb up to the back, and see that beyond the girl with the pink sparkly backpack, the way is clear.

I spring from the back of the seat, touch down for just the tiniest moment on the girl’s head, then leap off and run down the aisle of the bus. A quick bound down the stairs, and I’m outside—where squirrels belong. Up a tree I go.

Behind me, I can still hear the screams of the excitable girl, even though I’m gone.

The boy in the movable chair is saying, “Lydia! It was just a squirrel. And he’s gone now.” Then he says, “Goodbye, squirrel!”

I can’t be sure, but I think he sounds sad.

I’m a bit sad, too.

After all of the children get on their regular buses to go home, I find the window to the room where my cousins the geckos live. The window is once again open a crack, and I squeeze in.

“I’m Galileo,” says one.

“I’m Newton,” says the other.

“I’m Twitch,” I say. “I’m just back from the museum.”

GALILEO: That would be the Galileo Museum and Science Center.

NEWTON: We know the name of the museum already. You don’t have to remind anybody.

GALILEO: He could have meant the art museum, which is named after some artist person.

NEWTON: But he wasn’t going to the art museum. He was going to the science museum.

GALILEO: Which is named after me.

NEWTON: Which is named after the man you’re named after.

GALILEO: Same thing.

NEWTON: No, it’s not.

GALILEO: Yes, it is.

TWITCH: I had a good time.

NEWTON: Did you see marvels of science?

GALILEO: Did you see demonstrations and exhibits?

NEWTON: Were there untold wonders to behold?

GALILEO: Did you gain scientific wisdom?

TWITCH: I learned some new life lessons.

For once the geckos stop talking before my head has started to wibble-wobble. They want to hear what I have learned.

This is what I tell them:

• School buses are not really yellow. They’re something-sort-of-but-not-exactly-like-marigolds-colored.

• A pocket-sized dinosaur is better than a big dinosaur.

• Planets can break and fall down easily.

• Mars Rover is a fine sandbox toy.

• Sometimes lightning can get in a ball, and if it does, then it’s not dangerous.

• Wolves are not as scary as a security guard with a net.

• Peanuts that a friend has cracked open for you are absolutely the best thing in the world. The only things that are better than peanuts a friend has cracked open for you are hard-boiled eggs. The only things that are better than hard-boiled eggs are squirrel-sized chocolate bars. The only things better than squirrel-sized chocolate bars are potato chips. The only things better than potato chips are peanuts that a friend has cracked open for you.

For another once, the geckos still do not have anything to say. I can see that I have shared scientific wisdom with them that they did not know before.

“Oh,” I say, “and one more thing: I learned Sir Isaac Newton’s real name.”

The two geckos look at each other, then they look at me, then they look at each other, then they look at me.

NEWTON: Sir Isaac Newton’s real name is Sir Isaac Newton.

GALILEO: Definitely his real name.

NEWTON: I’ve never heard of another.

TWITCH: It’s Fig. And guess what. He has a cookie named after him. I tasted one on the bus. It’s the best—

GALILEO: No, I don’t think—

NEWTON: Ha! Having a cookie named after you is better than having a museum named after you.

GALILEO: No, it’s not.

NEWTON: Yes, it is.

GALILEO: A museum is big and important.

NEWTON: A cookie is something children love, so obviously they love Newton better than they love Galileo.

GALILEO: Do not.

NEWTON: Do too.

GALILEO: Not, not, not.

NEWTON: You’re just saying anything in order to have the last word.

GALILEO: Not.

I leave my cousins to work this out for themselves.

All this talk of cookies has made me hungry. Science is fine, but I need to get my dinner. I plan to look for a cookie. Cookies are my favorite thing.