The relief of Rinn having agreed with her was beyond anything that Imogen could have imagined. It was like falling off a high wire, only to discover that there was a safety net to catch her. That there were rewards to vulnerability, along with the risks.

“You know it’s okay, right?” asked Rinn. Only she said it more like a statement and less like a question.

“What’s okay?” asked Imogen.

“To be depressed,” said Rinn.

Imogen’s response was knee-jerk, immediate. “I’m not depressed.”

Rinn’s whole face went thoughtful for a moment. “It’s not a weakness. Depression isn’t. I mean, I’ve got anxiety.”

“You do?” asked Imogen.

“Sure,” said Rinn. “I’m basically hard-wired for it. My brain just works that way, I think. I care a lot, and I want to make things that are really great. When I film or take photos. Like there’s an edge there where I know my naturally anxious mind helps, because that’s what’s keeping me focused, keeping me paying attention to all the details I’m good at. The positive word for anxiety is conscientiousness.”

“It is?” Imogen felt like maybe she was having this conversation underwater. Or in a space suit. The sounds were muffled. Her mind was trying to block it out. But still, she could only really hear Rinn’s voice through it all.

“At least, that’s what the therapist I saw said. The school counselor. I can only see her during the school year, but she helps.” Then Rinn paused. Bit her lip for a moment. Released it once she had formulated her thought—Imogen could literally see the way Rinn thought across her face. “What I’m trying to say is, you can get help in all these different ways, like therapy and meds, for dealing with the ways in which your mind feels like it’s against you. But, like, it’s also still your mind, and it’s also made you who you are. Like I’m built to be happy but maybe not built to be calm. Maybe that’s just me, but for the longest time I was anxious because I had anxiety, you know?”

Imogen did know. She nodded.

“But some things just are. Not giving myself the space to have and deal with and learn from my anxiety was way worse than being a person with anxiety.”

“Are you about to show me how to overcome my depression or something right now?” Imogen narrowed her eyes.

Rinn—Oh my God—she laughed. “No. I think you need a licensed professional for that.”

Imogen didn’t know what to say to that; she decided it was best to say nothing. They had reached the front of the line of the Brock Harvey crowd by this point.

“Excuse me,” said Rinn. “Could I have your attention, please?”