Early on, when they'd just started home schooling together, he'd written a note on the margin of her page: "What's your star sign?"

She'd turned to him, "What does my star sigh?" and he'd seen how much she'd liked the idea that she owned a star, and that it sighed; he'd seen in her eyes that her mind was rushing through the possible words that it could sigh.

It's true that his handwriting was bad: the "n" looked a lot like an "h."

But when he's crossed it out and written "sign," underlining the "n" three times, a vagueness had wandered onto her face, and she'd thought for a moment, then said, "Pisces," and smiled.

Author: Jaclyn Moriarty