None of that happened. Except in social studies. She’d really liked social studies. In the first week, at the start of the “World Cultures” unit, Marianne had raised her hand and asked, “I don’t get it. Like, there’s no way we can learn about every world culture, so, like … how do you, like, decide which ones?”

Behind her, someone she didn’t know mimicked, “Um, like, um, like…” to a couple of giggles.

But Ms. Kumar had responded, “Wow, what an excellent question, Marianne! Keep up that sort of thinking and we’ll have a great year,” and Marianne could still feel that feeling of … specialness. She even started to ask more questions.

In the third week, they were placed with groups to study the culture of a country. Lucky her, she got France. Her mom’s favorite place! Marianne chose to present on food. She read recipes, learned about how French people ate multiple courses (yum) and how their desserts were world-famous. She created a well-labeled poster. She practiced the presentation with her group in the library.

And the big day arrived.

Marianne couldn’t remember much of what she said at first. But eventually, she explained meal starters.

“You see, you’ve experienced horse divorce even if you don’t know it,” she said. “And the actual words really just mean ‘out of the ordinary,’ so all horse divorce is … is something out of the ordinary!” She pointed to some of the pictures of food on her posterboard.

A couple of stifled laughs rippled through the classroom. Marianne thought nothing of it. Kids joked around all the time.

“Have you ever been to a wedding? If you have, you’ve probably had horse divorce.”

The entire room started chortling, and Marianne wavered.

“In my opinion, horse divorce are, like, um. They’re delicious. Like…”

And Ms. Kumar probably didn’t mean to laugh on the fourth “horse divorce,” but she did. She covered her mouth and let out a smothered snicker. And then she couldn’t stop. So the rest of the class couldn’t stop, either.

Once Ms. Kumar gathered herself, she said, “Oh, honey, it’s pronounced hors d’oeuvres.”

Marianne turned red, but to fight off the crying she knew might come, she laughed harder than anyone. She gripped her belly to show how hard she was laughing. She threw her head back.

She cried at home instead.

“What happened, love?” her mom asked.

And for the first time, Marianne answered that question from her mom with “Nothing.”

They called her “horse divorce” for a while. Then “horse.” In her yearbook her sixth-grade classmates wrote, “Hey Horse—keep that great smile” or “Horse—good year stay sweet xoxoxo.” But by fall, they’d probably forgotten the origin story.

Why hadn’t the other kids in the group corrected her beforehand? Was it because they thought it was funny? Or were they just trying to be nice each time she said it and didn’t think about what would happen?

Group projects were tough.

Quiz Quest was kind of like a group project, except these kids would definitely correct someone on their pronunciation right away.