“Hey, don’t say that about yourself.” Marianne stood in front of the desk and tried to get Vi to look at her.

“I think skateboarding or student government or Quiz Quest is going to make me friends or find a ‘group’ or something embarrassing like that, and of course it doesn’t.” Vi closed her eyes and tears slid out in buckets. “I give up.”

Marianne sensed someone at the door and saw her dad. He waved and pointed to the clock.

She turned back to Vi. They were running out of time.

“Okay, so sometimes it’s tough for you to … like…” Marianne grasped for words. “Connect with people. So? What do you do if something’s hard? You work on it,” she assured Vi, hearing Mr. Garcia in the back of her mind.

… Sit in the discomfort of not knowing, of not getting it at first.

Vi started to cry. Sobs overtook her. She couldn’t stop.

What could Marianne do?

She hopped on the desk in front of Vi and sat perched there. She would figure this out.

“And who says Addison’s so great, anyway?” Marianne threw it out there. It couldn’t hurt.

“She is,” Vi insisted predictably, between heaving breaths.

Could Marianne tell Vi she had connected with people? That she and Nina and Dan were her friends? Or at least almost-friends? The start of friends? Could she say that Vi had helped her so many times, like when she’d taken her cell from her at Regionals and made her forget those cruel voices, or all the times she’d worked with her on homework and flash cards?

She should stand up on the desk, pump her fist, and give Vi the ultimate pep talk—tell Vi she was going to win today. That she had to go give the love of knowledge her all. That she should win for them, for Nina and Dan and Skyla and Mr. Garcia. She was Violet frickin’ Cross, the captain of the scholars and the best teacher Marianne had ever had!

But there Vi sat, so sad, so unconcerned with winning or glory or being the best.

So Marianne did what friends do. She came to her side. She slowly guided her to standing. She said, “Hey, it’s okay.”

And she hugged Vi Cross with all her might.

For an instant, Vi stiffened.

Marianne repeated, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Then Vi let go. She cried harder, into Marianne’s Ermines tee. And Marianne said, “It’ll be alright,” a few more times.

And over the next minute Vi’s breathing slowed. She sniffled.

She patted Marianne’s back awkwardly a couple of times, and she pulled away.

“Okay,” Vi said. “Okay, okay,” she repeated, stepping back from Marianne.

It was Vi’s turn to check the clock.

“Almost time,” Marianne said.

“Five minutes?!” Vi wiped her face with the black sleeve under her T-shirt. She stuffed her cell in her back pocket.

“Go time,” Marianne said.

“Go time.” Vi took another deep breath.

Marianne opened the door and watched Vi steel herself. She sniffled, slicked back her hair, and strutted out the door, determined.