Some kids wandered between the desks, chatting and joking as they worked on a class activity. Marc was in his own little bubble, completely inspired. He was putting the final touches on his drawing of a motorcycle, roughly coloring the back of the vehicle in red. He smiled to himself — to his eyes, those scribbles were the most perfect drawing he had ever made. All that was left was to write his name at the top of the page.

And… oh.

He frowned in confusion, rummaging through his chewed-up crayons, his holey eraser, and the glue stick with no cap. He sighed. No pencil.

Well, it wasn’t the end of the world. Marc, being Marc, stood up from his seat and looked around. That’s when he saw him — Valentino. A kid with lots of friends in the classroom, and one who always had his colored pencils, markers, and stickers neat and complete. Marc had never spoken to him before, but feeling confident, he walked over and politely asked for a pencil.

“No! It’s mine! How can you come to school without a pencil? Sei così sciocco!”

“I’m not lending it to you, these are my things. That’s what they bought them for — go buy your own.”

That high-pitched voice answered with a hint of arrogance, frowning at Marc.