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by poetry and pass among them a contagious interest in the world they’d just become a part of. Around them would rise Gothic buildings containing dusty books that explained the secrets histories of everything. College. But Andrea had only replied, “There’s got to be room in this world for the ditchdigger.” Sophie didn’t know any ditchdiggers, unless her mother meant the men in giant yellow construction trucks who broke up chunks of concrete when a road needed repair. Is that what she was supposed to do with her life? She was confused. But when Andrea ended the conversation with a quick jab, “You should have been born a Kennedy,” Sophie finally understood what was being said: Andrea didn’t have the money, and Sophie didn’t get it.
    â€œShe’s going here, to Chelsea High, just like her mother,” Andrea told the doctor, phony pride stringing her voice tight across her throat.
    Dr. Chen nodded. “I went here, too. Wherever you go, there you are.”
    Sophie watched her mother and Dr. Chen watch one another. Dr. Chen’s coolness felt open, friendly, as if there wasn’t any reason, ever, to not be in a totally awesome mood. Her hair lay on her head perfect as a doll’s wig. Sophie couldn’t imagine anything ever mussing the sleek bob, especially not Dr. Chen, whose strides and motions had a fluid grace.
    Andrea, on the other hand, seemed like she had burst through a wall to get where she stood. The heat affected her, keeping her flushed, keeping the fine curls at her temples wet and flat against her skin. She shone. The bobby pins she used to keep her hair in line looked jammed into the mass of curls haphazardly. Her dark eyes bounced in her face. They held a certain edgy sparkle, always in motion. Andrea exuded a strange combination of urgency and exhaustion, as if she’d been saving babies from a burning building all day. And it wasn’t because of Sophie’s seizure. Sophie’s mother was always like this.
    As the doctor twisted her wrist to swing wide the door to her office, an ethereal whistling sound became audible; a high-pitched, mysterious ringing growing louder, fuller, melodious, and ending with a violent smack on the doctor’s curtained window. The glass shook with the impact, and everyone jumped.
    â€œOh, dear,” murmured Dr. Chen. She moved swiftly toward the window and, pushing aside the yellow curtains that filled the room with lemony warmth, flung open the glass. Immediately there was a fluttering, and something feathered and gray filled the space—a pigeon, soot colored and stocky, with the strangest contraption affixed to its tail feathers. Perched on the windowsill, it tucked its wings tight to its plump side, and fixed an eager, orange eye on the doctor.
    â€œOh, no,” Andrea grumbled. “They’ve got to net this building. These things are going to make sick people sicker.” Andrea switched into work mode and stepped toward the bird, making to shoo it away, but it only waddled sideways, ducking her flapping hand.
    â€œNo, no.” Dr. Chen smiled. She laid out her fingers like an elegant invitation and the bird accepted, daintily wrapping its skinny feet around the doctor. Andrea gasped. It was as if Dr. Chen was brazenly picking her nose, or scratching her bum, or plugging her thumb into her ear and smearing fresh wax onto her desk. Surely, she had lost her mind. The doctor gazed at the animal with a sort of reluctant admiration, possibly pride. She brought her arm up so that the others could witness the bird’s full form, including the strange cluster of tubes fixed to its backside with threads of glinting copper wire.
    â€œThis is Livia,” Dr. Chen introduced.
    â€œYou know that pigeon?” Andrea asked.
    â€œThis pigeon is a friend of mine. I guess you would call her my pet, though she’s a bit more independent than a dog or a cat. She lives in a dovecote on my