Miss. Wyoming accepted a quick good-luck hug from Miss. New Mexico and squeezed Miss. Maine's hand. "Mind if I embarrass you for a moment?"

"Go for it," Miss. Maine said, stepping over to allow Miss. Wyoming onto the stage.

Miss. Wyoming walked out under the lights and smiled at the cameras. "I dedicate this story to Bill Watterson and our very own Cat Kipman." She gestured off-stage, and the contestants cheered as Miss. Maine ran out for a quick, hastily-illuminated curtsy. Once she had run back into the wing, Miss. Wyoming began,

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Come with me, and we can leap from curved mountain peak to curved mountain peak, so high above the sleeping world below that nothing grows in the moonlight but wind-swept lichen. Come with me, and we can slide down the concave faces of the mountainsides into the gullies below, where we can splash in the river slowly snaking between each rising cliff-face, sending streaks of soft drops drenching lush plant-life on the shore, until we grow too hot and must sprint back up the mountain peaks to the cool breeze above.

Come with me, and we can chase the stars, gaining ground until we are able to leap into the thin air and grasp them by the anchors holding them in place in the sky, climbing up into the dank, rusting room at their bottoms and closing the port doors after we’ve safely pulled our feet in. Climb up creaky iron staircase after patched wooden staircase, past toy horses heavy with cobwebs and diaries whose last entry is in a dialect already lost to time, as we ascend a star – we, humans, inside a star! Come with me, and we can watch the layer of dust grow thinner and thinner with each floor we climb, the few chotskies on the shelves bearing a stronger and stronger resemblance to items we know, until we’re almost-but not quite-homesick. Climb with me until the floors gleam under the flickering lightbulbs, until we see an old woman snoozing in a hammock there, a young boy repairing his shoes there.

Come with me as the rooms grow more expansive, safe in the heart of the star. Marvel at the gleaming moonstones studding the windows, the tables ladened with the finest food from all corners of the galaxy. We can climb into a vast cavern with dozens of people eating together under the bare fluorescent light, and hear them whisper between themselves of how absolutely terrifying it is to live at the bottom of a star, what if an asteroid skims the surface and we’re thrown into the blackness beyond?

Come with me as we enter grander and grander rooms that cool both our skin and our souls; black granite walls with shart spotlights illuminating the wide, barren chambers; silent people walking with an assumed purpose, dressed in smart white robes with small, round black glasses that hide their eyes and their souls. If we listen, we can hear the silence being cracked by a woman mentioning how lovely it is to live at the top of a star, just a layer away from the beautiful eternity beyond.

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We can climb another staircase and find nothing more than a grandmother knitting by a crackling fire with a synthetic kitty on her lap.

We can climb another staircase and find empty, well-lit corridors scattered with the remains of fresh flowers, accented by small, sweet dolls stuffed with the ashes of someone long-gone.

We can climb another staircase and find the most enlightening books, written by fingers longer than humans have managed to grow thus far.

We can climb another staircase and find the cure for cancer, left beside the recipe for world peace and a really tasty muffin (that would kill a modern human in one bite).

We can climb another staircase and find ourselves reaching into nothing, gently pulled into the emptiness of space.

It’s okay! We can breathe in space!

We can leap down, hand and hand, and slide down the faces of shorter, dryer peaks than we’ve seen before – it’s the other side of our planet, so like ours and yet so unsettling, a land with less rain than it should have. We can dig away from the heat and tumble into the tunnels built by the inhabitants, and dine with them for an hour before we realize we’re sitting next to the son of the sister of your godfather’s best friend, who left years ago to chase her love to distant lands. We can hug her and kiss her cheeks and share family tales that would have been lost to an entire half of the world if we had not tumbled into their home. We can take their hand-drawn map and navigate through thousands of miles of tunnels we hadn't know existed until we find our home again. We can fall into each other’s arms, laughing with joy, and declare that we must do this whole thing again!

We can try. We can fail. After a whole long night of running, we’ll realize we can’t run any further. And you need to run to catch the stars. Not able to bear the thought that the heart of a star will no longer hold space in our lives, we’ll tell our children the secret of leaping into space.

And while they run off, we’ll set off to explore--and discover all the beautiful secrets hidden by--this world. What will we find? I don’t know! But I’m so, so excited to learn. I’m about to run to the highest mountain peak–will you come with me?