Tupper knew he was cornering her, but he was tired of her performative antics and complete self-involvement. She hadn’t asked about The Hunt. She didn’t seem interested in the Money Pit. She didn’t care that Monte was closed, even though their neighbors liked it there. She hadn’t even noticed that he’d joined Full Plate so that they could dine on delicious meals for two. It was possible to be an artist and a nice person, but Elizabeth didn’t even try. If she wanted to go, she could go.

He threw back his shot and poured himself another.

“I was awarded a MacArthur,” he said, finally delivering his news. “They called last night.”

Elizabeth gray eyes widened. “For The Hunt? That was a collaboration.”

Tupper grunted. Of course she’d believe the award was somehow meant for her.

“They said it was for my promise as a designer. They can’t wait to see what I’ll make next.”

Elizabeth drank two shots in a row and poured herself another. Out on the harbor the Staten Island ferry blasted its horn. She’d underestimated him. She was always underestimating him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, deciding it on the spot.

Tupper pushed his glass away. “But I want you to go. I want to make things, you want to make different things. It’s better if you go.”

“No.” Elizabeth gritted her yellow teeth determinedly and folded her arms across her chest. At last, it was back: the frisson. At least for now. “No.”

Her mum was probably right. Shy should have dropped the idea of table tennis and signed up for a pottery class instead. Mr. Streko was so different now that the season had started. He took table tennis far too seriously, as if they were training for the Olympics. Practices were every day, and only Mr. Streko and the senior captains were allowed to speak. Table tennis was a game of concentration, like chess, he said. Talking distracted the players. Sometimes Shy would forget and ask him a question or giggle and make a self-deprecating remark about her own clumsiness. Mr. Streko would just shake his head and turn away.

It carried over into Latin class too, as if he was intent on training her in and out of the gym. He never called on her anymore. He never even smiled. Shy was worried about him. He seemed preoccupied. Maybe someone in his family had died. Maybe his cat was sick. But the last thing she wanted was to let him down. So she dug in and practiced hard. She did squats and bench-pressed the weighted bar. She learned to serve backhand and forehand and tried to be quick on her feet. To her surprise, she enjoyed table tennis. She liked the rigor of it, the concentration, and how it was exercise without too much exercise.