On Saturday mornings, the bell on the door of the Maple Street Laundromat went tink-a-ling when Nora and Dad came in with their laundry. The floor tiles were the colour of eggshells, and the big round washers looked like sleepy moons with clear windows. It smelled like warm soap and raincoats. Nora liked it there. She wore her red rain boots, even when it wasn't raining, because they made a good stompy sound. She brought her little purple backpack, a book about a fox, and a bag of apple slices. Dad rolled their basket across the floor with a squeak-squeak, and the machines hummed hello. "Same as always," Dad said, smiling. "Towels in Seven, shirts in Eight. You're the button helper." Nora nodded. Seven was her favourite. Someone long ago had put a tiny star sticker next to the number, and even though it was a little faded, it still sparkled if you looked from the side. She touched the cool metal door of Washer Seven and looked in at the empty drum, round and shiny. The hum of the other machines was soft and steady. It sounded like bees far away, or a kitten purring under a blanket. Dust sparkles floated in the sunlight that came through the front windows. Nora took a bite of an apple slice, and a soap bubble drifted from a cap a man had dropped, floating like a small balloon. The bubble didn't pop when it touched the air. It wobbled and glowed a little. Nora reached to tap it, but it slid away and bobbed toward Washer Seven, bumping the glass with a tiny kiss. "That's odd," Nora whispered, and she glanced at Dad. He was reading the paper with his glasses low on his nose. "Stay where I can see you," he said without looking up, because he always said that. Nora smiled. "I am," she said. She loaded towels with both hands-plop, ploop, plop-while Dad started the shirts in Eight. Then she dropped in a capful of lemon soap, and the room smelled sunny. She pressed the big round button. The water began to rush in, and the towels swirled like a slow dance. Washer Seven made its normal hum...and then a soft, bubbly sound that Nora had never heard before. It was like someone saying "glup" very politely. She put her ear near the glass. Inside, a tiny striped sock spun past the window and seemed to flick like a little tail. Nora giggled. "Hello, sock-fish," she said under her breath. Another bubble floated over and kissed the glass. Then another. They made a crooked little trail from the soap counter to the window, as if the bubbles were trying to draw a line. The last one sat in the corner of the glass and didn't pop at all. It shined like a bead. Nora looked at the dial. Warm. Normal. Spin. That was all the same. But next to the faded star sticker, there was a tiny mark she had never seen before, like the outline of a sail. When she leaned closer, it seemed to twinkle. Her hair lifted a little, as if a gentle breeze had found it. The water inside Washer Seven wasn't just soapy. It looked like a small blue lake, bright as summer, even though the lights in the laundromat were the same as always. The towels floated like little islands, and the striped sock drifted to the window and pressed itself there, toe-first. Tap. The sock made a soft sound, as if it were asking a question. Nora tapped back with one finger. Tap, tap. Washer Seven hummed in a new pattern-hum, pause, hum-hum-almost like a song. A string of tiny bubbles rose inside and stuck to the glass in a gentle curve, like a smile. The coin return clicked, and two little tokens slid into the tray. They were not like the laundromat quarters. They were smooth and warm, with a star stamped in the middle. Nora picked them up and looked around. Dad had put his paper down and was sorting socks, counting under his breath. "Three blue...four blue...where is the other blue?" He was not watching her hands. "Dad?" Nora said softly. "Do you know we got star coins?" "What's that?" Dad called. "Hold on, kiddo. Stay by Seven." "I am," Nora said again, and she stuck the tokens in her pocket. She didn't see any place to put them. There was only the regular coin slot and the start button. Still, she liked the way they felt, like a secret she wasn't sure how to tell yet. Inside the washer, the water calmed. The spin slowed. The hum grew higher, then softer, like someone taking a deep, happy breath. A warm whoosh of air brushed Nora's cheeks. It smelled like lemons and the first day after a storm. Beep-beep-beep, went the little screen. Cycle done. "Already?" Dad said, surprised. He stood up with one sock still on his hand like a puppet. "That was fast." Nora knelt in front of Washer Seven. The towels settled. For a breath, everything was still. Then the striped sock rose again, not tossed by water now, but floating on top as if it knew how. Right behind it, in the blue window of the drum, Nora saw something silver and small. It was a boat. A tiny boat, no bigger than Nora's hand, folded from something shiny like a candy wrapper. It had a little mast made from a toothpick, and on the mast was a sail cut from a napkin with a star drawn in blue crayon. The boat was real. It bobbed between the towels as if the washer were a pond. Nora's mouth made a small "O." The door latch clicked. Not all the way-just a soft click, as if the washer were clearing its throat. A sliver of blue light shone from the seam. A single drop slipped out, but it didn't fall. It hovered, round and perfect, then drifted up and floated, joining the other bubbles by the glass. "Nora?" Dad called. "Do you need help with that load?" "I'm looking," she said, and she grabbed a dry towel from the cart, just in case. Her knees made little squeaks on the tile as she shifted closer. The tiny boat turned. Tucked against the mast, Nora saw something else: a glint of metal, like a charm on a bracelet. A key. It was tied with blue thread, and when the boat tipped, the key flashed through the blue like a wink. The striped sock flapped like a friendly fin, then tapped the glass again. Tap. Tap. Tap. Nora felt the warm handle of the washer under her fingers. Inside, the boat drifted toward the door. The line of bubbles on the glass stretched and wiggled, as if they, too, were leaning closer to see. The star sticker on the dial shined a little brighter. The hum became a soft, hopeful note that Nora could feel in her chest. "Nora?" Dad's voice came again, closer now. Nora took a small breath. The silver boat bumped the edge with a tiny, bright sound, and the key on its mast swung once, catching the light as the star on Washer Seven began to glow like a real, little star.