From behind him on the screen, out of sight, Marianne heard someone copy what Dan said in a mocking voice and then add, “Is this your girlfriend or something?”

“Get out, Andy!” Dan growled.

Most of her sessions with Dan ended that way.

And the majority of her sessions with Nina ended with Marianne convincing Nina to show off some ballet moves. She was really good! Marianne cheered her on through the screen as Nina attempted trickier and trickier spins.

Vi was the only one she studied with in person.

She came over on weekends, and Marianne’s family took the opportunity to chat with her. When Vi found out her dad was a musician, she almost leapt out of her chair.

“Are you using him to prepare for Quest?” Her head snapped to Marianne.

“Yeah, Mar, why aren’t you using my wide berth of knowledge?” her dad had said, and although Marianne had rolled her eyes, she did let him play her some of the songs Vi determined “most commonly showed up in competition.”

She hated to admit it after all her years of asking him to change whatever song he had on in the car, but she really liked some of them, especially a song called “La donna è mobile.” She added it to a new playlist, until one morning her mom walked by her room, popped her head in, and said, “Just don’t Google the words. Yikes.”

It turned out the song translated to “Woman Is Unstable.”

“Dan, Nina,” Marianne told them on video chat that night. “The lyrics are,” and she read to them from her phone, “‘like the feather in the wind she changes tone and thought. Always a lovable, cute face, in tears or smiling, it tells lies.’” She looked to them for a reaction. “Can you believe my dad listens to that stuff?”

“Unfortunately, when you delve into the classics, you find some mighty troublesome content,” Dan said drily.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Nina added.

“It’s so cool that your dad is into classical music,” Nina gushed to Marianne’s shock.

After one of those chats, Marianne had gone into her mom’s room and announced, “Hi. Ya know what just hit me? If school were only for sharing cool and interesting things all day, maybe more kids would love it.”

Her mom put down the book she was reading and pushed up her glasses onto her hair.

“But, honey,” her mom said, patting the bed for her to come and sit, “that is what school is.”

Marianne sat. Her mom’s decades-old purple-and-blue quilt felt softer than any material in the world. “It can’t be that way when it’s on a rushed schedule, where you have to ‘get’ everything by a certain time of the day, or when you have to be on the spot all the time, or when—”

Her mom cuddled her up in her arms. “I’m so sorry it’s felt that way to you.” She ran her fingers through Marianne’s tangled, post-bun hair. “Hey. Listen. High school will be different.”