“Now,” he went on. “What was the name of King Arthur’s sword?”

Mr. Garcia pressed a button on a timer every time he asked a question.

Marianne could see the seconds tick, tick, tick …

King Arthur’s sword … Like The Sword in the Stone. She’d seen that movie. The sword had a name?

Buzz.

“Excalibur?” Nina answered. Nina only answered with question marks.

She got it right. More literature.

One question was about Jane Austen, and Nina answered someone named something-Brontë, and Vi snapped, “Come on, Nina! You know this!”

After that, Nina hardly answered at all.

“What is the name of the world’s largest island?”

It must have been Hawaii, Marianne decided. But should she say it?

Nina wasn’t answering, and she was supposed to be the places expert.

She saw Vi glance at Nina and then hit the buzzer herself.

“Greenland,” Vi said. “Because Australia is a continent, doesn’t count,” she explained to the rest of them.

“I know that, obviously,” Dan mumbled almost inaudibly.

Greenland was an island? Good thing Marianne hadn’t chimed in. Man, she was hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. At least she didn’t have to answer. Only Vi was responding by then.

At one point Mr. Garcia asked for the name of “the Baroque composer of the Brandenburg Concertos,” and Dan reached for the buzzer but paused before hitting it, missing his chance.

Vi answered, “Bach.”

“Did you know it?” Marianne whispered to him afterward.

“Yeah. Oh well.” He shrugged. His shrug kind of reminded Marianne of her own. Funny.

His left arm remained somewhat immobile on the table, his fingers curled into a light fist.

Dan noticed her staring. She quickly looked away.

“I have cerebral palsy,” he told her. “This side”—he motioned toward his left with a nod—“can’t do too much.”

“Oh. Okay,” Marianne said.

He leaned toward her and whispered, “Apologies in advance—sometimes it spasms a bit.”

“No problem,” Marianne whispered back.

“Ahem.” Vi coughed from across the table to get them back into the game.

On and on the questions went, and Marianne found herself watching instead of listening. She noted who answered and when, and if they didn’t, she was curious why not.

And then:

“Who was the first woman on a United States presidential ticket?” Mr. Garcia asked.

Oh my gosh! Marianne knew this one! She had to buzz! She actually knew something!

“HILLARY CLINTON!” She stood up, forgetting to buzz. Her bubbe loved Hillary and her zayde hated her.

“Incorrect. The answer is Geraldine Ferraro,” Mr. Garcia answered.

Vi glowered.

The answer was who?

Marianne felt her cheeks burn.

Shrugging, she twisted a strand of hair.

Mr. Garcia kept asking questions at a rapid pace, and Marianne slumped into her seat and shut off her ears.

“Hey, no big deal. That was a tough one,” Dan whispered between buzzes.

“You knew who it was, though, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But that’s just because my mom gives me lots of books on women’s history.”

“Your mom must be cool.”