Bright

Brigit Young

Contents ( 17)

Begin Reading

Table of Contents

About the Author

Thank you for buying this

Roaring Brook Press ebook.

To receive special offers, bonus content,

and info on new releases and other great reads,

Or visit us online at

us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

For email updates on the author, click here.

The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

For Jonathan, who sees me.

Everyone you will ever meet knows something you don’t.

—BILL NYE

This is how it works

You peer inside yourself

You take the things you like

And try to love the things you took.

—REGINA SPEKTOR

1

MARIANNE BLUME DIDN’T KNOW a lot, but she knew she was stupid.

And so did Mr. Garcia.

“Alright, Ms. Blume,” he said, serious as ever, giving her a look like this was her one last chance.

When the class heard him call on her, most of them tuned out, scribbling on worksheets until they could actually learn something again.

“Let’s give this one a try,” he went on.

Oh no. He wasn’t really going to make her do this, was he?

That afternoon she’d tried a couple of her usual strategies to get him to leave her be: sighing here and there like she was having outside-the-classroom troubles, and scribbling in her notebook so it looked like she was taking notes.

“Who, me?” She raised her eyebrows in the doe-eyed way she’d learned meant “I know nothing.”

Kylie Chen, seated in the chair next to her, snorted.

The class giggled at her snort.

Thanks, Kylie. Maybe Mr. Garcia would move on. Too much distraction.

Marianne heard Vi Cross mutter something to herself two desks over. She glanced back just in time to see Vi roll her eyes.

Marianne could see that Vi was annoyed, and she understood she’d already frustrated Mr. Garcia, but what she couldn’t wrap her head around was how in any world, in any version of any universe, she was supposed to figure out the value of X.

“Hmm. Sorry. I don’t know this one.” She threw Mr. Garcia a big smile. The more you smiled, the more people liked you. And man, did she want Mr. Garcia to like her.

“Let’s walk through it together,” Mr. Garcia went on, offering no sunshine in return.

Why was he doing this? He knew she didn’t—and wouldn’t—know the answer.

Ms. James, Marianne’s English and history teacher, would’ve let her off the hook. So would her math teacher from last year, Ms. Corwin, who made Marianne and a few other kids spend a couple of lunches a week in her classroom completing extra worksheets. Ms. Corwin loved to chat, so they spent most of the lunch hour gabbing with her about stuff like the best mystery shows on Netflix and what they’d do if they had a million dollars. Those teachers understood Marianne. They wouldn’t put her on the spot. Even Mr. Hedley from sixth grade, a famously grumpy science teacher, would’ve joked around with Marianne instead of embarrassing her. Marianne figured out early on that Mr. Hedley was like most cranky old grandpas—a softie. After a few post-class questions about his grandkids, they became the best of friends. She still stopped by Mr. Hedley’s room to see if his ski champion grandson was getting closer to the Olympics.