
“Last one there is a rotten egg!” said Astrid.
On my planet, that was literally true. One moment I was a kid racing my best friend to the swing set, my skinny legs pumping like an awkward machine. The next, after she had beaten me, I was rolling in the dirt, a damp, yucky-smelling egg yolk wearing a cracked shell just because she reached someplace first. I didn’t need the...