“Whoa, so pretty,” Marianne said. “I’ll remember now.”

But Skyla was able to recall these things with no effort, no tricks.

Marianne laid her papers and flash cards in her lap. “How do you do that?” she asked her. “Really?”

“I’ve been getting good at school stuff this year, I guess,” Skyla mumbled, shuffling through some of the flash cards. Perking up, she added, “That’s why this whole time I’ve been saying, I can really help you out!”

If that was supposed to make Marianne feel better, it didn’t.

Skyla had always been fine at school, so compared to Marianne she was Isaac Newton. But she’d never been intimidating, or the kid in class with all the answers, or so obviously in a whole other league than Marianne, the way she was now.

When had she changed? Had she actually always been this way?

“I don’t want to go back to school tomorrow,” Marianne told her.

“Should we take a break and check out Lillian’s telescope?” Skyla suggested. “Clear night.”

“Have you hidden how smart you are from me?” Marianne asked her point-blank.

“Psssh.” Skyla stood up from her cross-legged position on the floor, where they sat surrounded by papers in the center of a homework spiral.

Maybe Skyla didn’t even know she’d been doing it. Or if she did, she wouldn’t admit it.

“No, you just never let me help before! With anything. So you haven’t seen this part of me, I guess!” She put out a hand to help pull Marianne up, but Marianne didn’t take it.

“I’m stupid,” Marianne said. “I am truly, honestly stupid. And my parents and you are too afraid to say it.” She paused. “To my face, anyway.”

So she’s a bit of a ditz … they’d said.

“Ridiculous,” Skyla scoffed. She went to the window and opened the shades. “Like I’ve said before, you just don’t know how to study. It’s a skill. And yeah, I’m really good at that. That’s what you’re learning how to do right now.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve tried. This time, I’ve really tried. And I’ll never be able to do that”—she gestured to the papers on the floor before her, the papers Skyla had immediately internalized—“like you can.”

Skyla walked to the door. “Up to the attic,” she said. “We need a break. Stars time.”

On their way out of her bedroom and toward the stairs, they heard a noise coming from Lillian’s room, but it wasn’t music.

“Shhh.” Marianne held a finger to her lips and pressed her ear against the door.

Crying.

She turned the doorknob and heard “Get out!” before seeing anything.

Shutting the door immediately, she followed Skyla upstairs.

“What do you think is going on?” Skyla asked as they made their way toward the telescope.

“I really don’t know.”

Making their way past her dad’s stacks of sheet music and shelves of records and CDs, and her mom’s three filing cabinets filled with who-knew-what, they reached the window that led to the stars.