At fake-Easter dinner, which weirdly took place around 4:00 P.M. (“It’s a tradition,” her mom said), there was lots of talk about how her uncle Joseph had a new girlfriend.

“When are we going to meet this elusive creature?” her mom asked.

Uncle Joseph hadn’t ever been married, and they were always setting him up on dates.

“In good time, in good time,” he said.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Nia asked Lillian.

“Or girlfriend,” Lillian corrected her, before explaining that she didn’t have time for all that.

“What about you, Marianne?” Nia asked.

With the whole table looking at her, Marianne wanted to pull the tablecloth so all the food came smashing down and then run away. She had never been asked a question like that before in front of her parents. Plus, the answer was a big no.

She shook her head, knowing full well her face flushed, and her uncle Sean jumped in.

“Is she going to be allowed to date high schoolers if she’s still in eighth grade at Etheridge?” he asked her dad.

“Sean,” her mom warned him.

“What? It’s an honest question!” He glanced around the table for backup, but luckily Lillian changed the topic.

“I’m starting to get into music stuff lately,” Lillian told them. “We’re actually performing at the Youth Zone next month.”

Marianne mouthed “thank you” to her sister.

She hadn’t realized that everyone knew about her situation.

Was she the stupid one to her whole family, too?

After dinner, her dad pulled up a recording of the last round at Regionals and the family crowded around to watch it. The final round had been posted on a private YouTube link.

“You look so pretty,” Nia said from her spot on the couch as she cuddled in the crook of Lillian’s arm.

“Um, thanks. Dad, we really don’t have to watch this,” she said to him.

He talked right over her, telling the whole room about when she answered the opera question right.

His smile lit up his face. When her dad was proud of his kids, he shone.

She’d been letting him down for a long time, she saw.

The questions started flying, and she heard Dan go head-to-head with the other team.

“That’s incredible,” Uncle Sean said.

“Yeah, these kids—they’re something else. I didn’t know half that stuff,” her dad answered, leaning forward in his favorite chair, still grinning, Coke bottle in hand.

Marianne stood up and walked behind the couch to start picking up the dishes from the dining room table.

“Who is the author of the classic novel Robinson Crusoe?” Marianne heard from the other room as she placed a stack of plates in the sink.

She heard herself answer, “Langston Hughes.” She’d guessed that name, she remembered, because Vi had said it in an earlier round. He was a poet, she remembered. She’d known she was wrong, but she hadn’t cared because she knew she had to say something, and Vi insisted that once in a blue moon a guess worked out.