For the first time in her life, Delia understood the desire to be selfish. She was so close. Not to winning, though that too. But to feeling like there was a place for her, this place, this place she didn’t know how much she wanted to be in until she was actually here. To feeling like what she thought and did and had—knowledge, abilities, talent—were respected, maybe even admired. A feeling she’d seen exhibited on her mother’s face her whole life. A feeling she was ashamed to want to keep.

“Delia?” Lucy said. “We don’t have to. We can keep going—”

“No, not for me. That’s not a good enough reason.”

“Yes, it is. To me, it is.” That Lucy’s voice was softer than usual didn’t mean it lacked strength. She was resolute when she said, “Being here was a given for me. For the prestige, the connections . . . Résumé building’s kind of my thing. I didn’t actually expect to learn anything, and I certainly never expected to learn what I have so far. Including what happened last night—”

“But Ryan, how could you—”

“No, not Ryan,” Lucy said, her voice full of venom. “This isn’t his to own.” She unclenched her jaw and let her eyes travel from Delia to Maddie. “See . . .” Lucy paused to gather her thoughts. “I’ve always been surrounded by friends, but I’ve never actually had them before.”

Delia felt a twinge in her chest at Lucy’s words. She’d have never survived without Cassie.

Lucy focused on Delia as she continued. “I didn’t realize what that meant until last night. And that when I said majority rules at the hackathon I was wrong. Because that’s not how friends treat one another. If you don’t want us to do this, we won’t. No questions asked.”

“You’d do that for me?” Delia said.

“I’d do that for us. Because if we do this, you don’t have to be psychic to know our odds of winning ValleyStart will be as Comatose as I am.”

“And me,” Maddie said.

Delia twirled a lock of hair around her finger, picturing herself telling her parents she’d won, that she was going to work for Pulse, that they didn’t need to let the theater become a multiplex and go buy a Winnebago. And then she pictured telling them why. Because she hadn’t acted like the person they’d raised her to be.

“I—I don’t care,” Delia said. “Well, no, I do. This place . . . I wanted this. But I can live with being wronged for doing what’s right.” She already had. Before Lucy could finish her “thank you,” Delia found herself saying, “You know the town fair I said I worked at?”

Lucy nodded. “Frying cornholes.”

“Dogs.”

“You fried dogs? Is that, like, legal in Indiana?”

“Illinois. And no.”