He puts her work with the rest of the pile and leans back, amusement mixed now with melancholy. He envies Thora: not the small miseries of life at her age, but the illusion of infinite potential. He lists again the things that held him back: lack of money, failing his physics exam, his family telling him to settle for something reliable. He asks himself how many of those were just excuses. Perhaps he sabotaged himself: brought down the failure he feared so he wouldn’t have to wait for it anymore. Or perhaps God wanted him for something different.

He dozes off on the sofa, thinking about miracles: about the man he once saw floating five inches above the cobbles, perfectly still, his face expressionless and his hands spread wide.

At the parents’ evening, Santi meets them for the first time: Thora’s mother, a comparative mythologist, and her father, a philosopher built like a prizefighter.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lišková,” he says, putting out his hand.

“Actually, it’s Dr. Liška,” says the father. His handshake is slightly too firm. “My daughter has the feminine form of my surname.”

“Dr. Rasmusdottir,” says the mother.

“My wife preferred not to take my name in any form,” says the father with a too-loud laugh.

The mother’s English has no discernible accent. Santi suspects expensive international schools, like the one he teaches in. He gets the whiff of alcoholism from the father: the trembling hand, an overly enthusiastic demeanor, fragile like the casing of a bomb.

“Your daughter is very bright,” he says.

“We know that,” says her father, laughing again.

“Her problem is she doesn’t apply herself,” says her mother.

“She applies herself where she’s interested,” Santi points out. He doesn’t know why he’s defending Thora: he is supposed to be on the other side. Everything about this is upside down. He feels like a child catapulted into the body of a middle-aged man, expected somehow to know what he is doing.

“I see,” says Dr. Liška. “You are the science teacher, yes?”

“I am.”

“Yes. We see Thora’s true strengths as being more in the arena of the humanities. Writing, history, and so forth.”

“Her writing is very good,” Santi agrees. “But that’s a skill she can continue to develop in many contexts. Studying the sciences would allow her to pursue what she’s interested in, as well as opening up other opportunities.”

The parents exchange a look. Dr. Rasmusdottir looks back at Santi. “You mean her ridiculous obsession with space.”

Santi feels a quiver of disbelief. The scornful tone, the rolling eyes: it’s cartoonish, a seven-year-old’s version of parents who don’t understand. When Thora described them to him, he assumed she was exaggerating.