Have you ever had moments where everything is so exciting and wonderful and you have a friend saying that she’s glad you’re her friend and you’re so effervescent (a Hard Reading Word that means vivacious and enthusiastic) that you can’t use words, only make happy squealing noises?

“And what about the Smithsonian contest?” Talia said. “You still have five days before the deadline.”

I put a finger on my locker. “But I didn’t get Cecilia in the textbook.”

“So? You still have five days to do a teaching project and finish your letter.”

“Five days? That’s not very much time. Plus, I don’t know what my project would be. I can’t do poems like you or play music or do painting or drawing or anything.”

“Oh please,” she said. “Libby, you’re one of the smartest people I know. No way you can give up on twenty-five grand, girl. Even if you don’t win, you have to try. You can totally think of something kick-butt to do.”

“What is it with you and butts?”

Dustin Pierce was at his locker down the hall.

Hadn’t he learned anything?

I started walking toward him.

“Hey,” Talia said. “Don’t, he’s not worth it.”

I kept walking.

“Hey, Dustin,” I said.

He looked at me and huffed. He was quite a bit taller than me. “Oh no, it’s FrankenChin.”

“Who’s your favorite basketball player?” I asked.

Dustin and Talia both stopped talking. Dustin’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “Huh?”

“You like basketball, right?” I said. “That’s your thing, isn’t it? So who’s your favorite player?”

“Well, Michael Jordan is the best of all time. Duh.”

“Okay, so do you think Michael Jordan wasted his time putting butt pictures in people’s lockers? Do you think he spent time thinking up mean names and things to call people or do you think he maybe focused on something more productive?”

“What are you talking about?”

“While you’re sitting here being a butt-obsessed butthead, some other kid is practicing free throws or learning plays or … something. I dunno. But if they’re practicing and you’re butt-picturing, who’s gonna be better at basketball?”

Dustin slammed his locker and rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

When I walked back to Talia she was shaking her head at me, grinning. “You are so weird,” she said.

“I know,” I said.

“Back to the Smithsonian contest…,” she said.

I thought about the private, best-friends thing Talia had just told me and I finally thought of the right thing to say. Maybe practicing Silent Questions also helps you become better at figuring out what to say when you have to say out-loud things.

“Okay, Talia. I’m not giving up on the contest, but I need someone to help me with a new master plan. Would you maybe want to ask our moms if we could have a sleepover this weekend and I’ll try and have a new idea for us to start working on? And I’ll submit it on Tuesday. And also, there’s something I want to show you … if you’re not scared of needles.”