“I know all these things. I love Mar!” Uncle Sean cowered a bit.

“… And bright and intuitive and original and wonderful, and she may have had some difficulty navigating a traditional curriculum, but I don’t know … Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I should have homeschooled her or found other options or…” Her mom started pacing, and it became clear to Marianne that at this point she was talking to herself. They all seemed to have forgotten Marianne was right there, standing behind the dining table, stiff and quiet. “Somewhere along the way she lost faith in herself. And that breaks my heart.” She turned with a severe glare back to her little brother. “And, Sean? She is going to get enough awfulness from the world outside, so don’t you come into my house and reduce and belittle my little girl with your antiquated digs. Not here.”

Her dad touched her mom’s arm.

“No, no,” her mom said, and walked away from all of them. “It’s not funny, guys.”

Marianne heard her mom stalk upstairs toward the bedroom.

Uncle Sean tried to say he was sorry to her dad, and Marianne slinked out of the room before he could turn his apologies to her.

She made her way to her mom’s room, where she found her lying down, reading a novel.

“Did you fight Uncle Sean just so you could escape everyone to read?” Marianne asked. “Nice one.”

Her mom sighed and laid the book down, split halfway open, onto the bed. “Reading calms me down,” she said.

“Ugh, reading made me almost cry today,” Marianne admitted, plopping down on the corner of the bed. She told her mom how sad it was when the dad died in the book.

“You have a deeply feeling heart. Always have.” After a beat she sighed and said, “Any time you worry about your grades, just remember that Uncle Sean is living proof that going to Cornell or wherever else doesn’t make you an intellectual.”

“Ouch!” Marianne giggled.

“I’m serious,” her mom said. “And it clearly doesn’t make you kind. Or good. Or any of the things that matter.”

“I think you’ve got to be at least pretty smart to get into Cornell. Or Harvard,” she added, jokingly elbowing her mom. “But yeah, probably they don’t look at your ‘nice’ scores.”

Possum jumped onto the bed and made his way to Marianne’s lap. She scratched under his furry gray chin.

Marianne’s mom shrugged. “To go to a school like that you have to turn in your homework on time, usually. Show up. Do what’s asked of you. Plus, a heap-ton of privilege in life helps. And sure, plenty of those people are brilliant, but plenty of them aren’t. Trust me on this one.” Her mom sat up and leaned against the headboard, gazing out the windows toward the pink setting sun. “I’m sorry your evil uncle said that about you.”

Marianne laughed and pulled her mom’s hand to inch her off the bed. “He’s not Maleficent or something. Come on. Plus, you’re talking to a Quiz Quest champion, Mom. Why would it bother me?”