“She can’t be your only friend,” Marianne said. “What about Nina and Dan!” She tried to sound convincing.

“Oh yeah right,” Vi grumbled. A light drizzle came down and Vi lifted up her black hood. “All they could say is that I’m ‘organized.’”

“But, like…” Marianne said. “You didn’t say anything to them at all?” Marianne motioned to her mom and added, “I got to go.”

If Vi heard her, she didn’t let on. “I know no one likes me,” she said.

Marianne found herself looking around for Nina and Dan, but she couldn’t say why. Maybe she felt like she shouldn’t be the only one hearing this. It was too much. She didn’t know Vi Cross well enough to know how to respond in a way that would make anything better. Plus, if she’d ever thought about it, she’d always assumed Vi didn’t care if anyone liked her, anyway. How else could she explain being so harsh with everyone all the time?

Should Marianne say that she liked her? Or would that be a lie?

Marianne didn’t not like her. She didn’t really not like anyone. She just thought Vi didn’t like her. And she didn’t. Right?

“I really like the way you teach me,” Marianne said, telling the truth. “You make things sound really exciting, and … I don’t know what the right word is … Big.”

“Ha. Big?” Vi looked down at their shoes, getting wetter by the minute.

“What I mean is you’re a great teacher.” She shuffled side to side to stay warm.

“I told Addison earlier during practice that you said I had to be nicer,” Vi reported.

So that was who Vi was always texting with during breaks. Of course.

“She said if I want to be a good leader I have to be kind,” Vi went on. “So she thinks you’re right.”

Marianne said, “But hey, you’re really honest, so that’s good, right?”

“I always thought so,” Vi said, her voice a wisp, the rain speeding up.

“I think people just don’t always need to hear the worst thing about themselves?” Marianne said, raising her voice above the rain.

It seemed so obvious. But maybe it wasn’t to Vi.

Vi stood there for several seconds until Marianne’s mom rolled down the window.

“Hey, honey, it’s raining,” she said. “Everything okay?” she asked.

“Hi, Ms. Blume,” Vi greeted her.

“Her last name is Byrne, actually.” Marianne grabbed the car door handle. The rain intensified.

“It’s alright, Blume’ll do,” her mom said. “Do you need a ride?” she asked Vi.

“Oh, no, I walk home, Ms. Byrne,” Vi said, beginning on her way immediately, head still down.

Vi had one of those different voices for grown-ups—more formal, softer.

“Technically it’s Dr. Blume,” Marianne yelled above the rain, hopping inside the passenger’s seat.

“Oh, stop, it’s Norah,” Marianne’s mom said. “And it’s raining. Get in.”

Vi jumped in the back seat, and they drove off.

“Alright, where am I going?” her mom asked.

“I’m over on Sycamore,” Vi answered.