“Oh.”

She leaned back. “I’m really fine, it just feels weird right here.” She patted a hand low, low on her stomach. “My mom was acting so weird, like I’d won some freaking trophy or something. She was like, ‘Oh girl, my grown-up girl.’”

I didn’t really know what to say, because I was worried that whatever I said would be the wrong thing. Besides, my brain kept saying mixed things to itself. I was glad that Talia had told me about it, because it’s the sort of thing that you only tell your best friends. But also I knew I would never have a period like that. At least not on my own, not for a long time. I would need special pills when I was older to make me have a period. For hormone regulation and bone density reasons, according to the doctor, although Mom says that’s still years away and she also said, “Man, it would have been nice to get you out of the whole stupid thing entirely.”

So yeah, no normal getting my period for me, whatever that means.

But actually I didn’t think about that for too long because I remembered that my mom was already proud of me, and then I started thinking about questions. Questions I’d never had to ask before. Like, did it hurt in a stomachache way or in a gut-punch way? How much blood was there? I’d heard that in a few years when I started taking the pills, I’d only have to get a period every three or four months and getting one each month seemed like it would be so draining and, well, a lot of blood. Did you have to wear a tampon right at the beginning? Did they make it hard to walk?

Probably not great questions to ask in the middle of the school hallway.

And there were other Big Girl things to talk about first.

“You sure you’re okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “I … Sorry I haven’t exactly been super fun lately. There’s been a lot going on.”

“Me too,” I said. “And you don’t need to be sorry for being sad about your grandma or working really hard on the contest. Totally okay.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“Sure thing,” I said. “And thank you for … for being my favorite poet.”

She laughed. “Well, no rehearsing during lunch anymore, so you want to eat in the library?”

I smiled. “Always,” I said, slapping my hands together. “And speaking of, I’m really, really sorry I haven’t even asked you about Poetry Out Loud yet. How’d it go?”

“Nah, no worries,” she said. Then Talia smiled one of her rare, dimply smiles, and it was like we were right back where we left off. Maybe even better.

“Well?” I said, bouncing. “How’d you do?”

Talia grinned.

“I got second place.”

I jumped and clapped some more. “That’s amazing! You’re amazing! Phenomenal!”

“I was sort of sad at first that I didn’t win. Okay, more like totally pissed. But actually then I thought of you talking to that stupid dumb editor guy on your own and I was like, when I tell Libby about this, what will she say? And I swear I could hear your voice in my head being all like, ‘Second place is just amazing and plus it means you’ll be ready to kick butt next year,’ and so that’s what I decided to do. Hang my certificate on my wall and get ready for next year.”