Marscha was a "watcher." While other kids ran headfirst into the lake or climbed the highest branches of the oak tree, Marscha stood back. She watched the way the wind rippled the water before diving; she studied the sturdiness of a branch before placing a foot. Her classmates called her "Wait-and-See Marscha."

"Watch, Marscha," Leo grumbled, tugging at the metal. "I’m just going to kick it."

Marscha realized that being a watcher wasn't about being afraid of the world—it was about understanding it well enough to help everyone else navigate it safely.

"I bet I can jump the narrow part," declared Toby, the bravest—and often most bruised—boy in the group.

Marscha didn't snap back. She was looking at the edge of the bank. She noticed the way the soil was crumbling under Toby’s sneakers even before he leaped. She noticed a hidden root slick with moss. "Toby, don't," Marscha called out. "Why not? Scared?"

Within thirty seconds, the chain snapped back into place with a satisfying clink . Leo stared at the bike, then at his sister. "How did you know that would work?"

"Wait," Marscha said softly. She didn't move immediately. She watched the way the chain was bunched near the derailleur. She saw the specific link that had jumped the track. "If you kick it, you’ll bend the frame. Just give me a second."