I shrug, trying my best to look nonchalant. “I haven’t been able to talk to him in like a week, but that’s because the time change threw them off. The real problem is that I’m being hit on by prepubescent boys.” Noah has given up on my nonexistent earring and is now attempting a backflip off the diving board.

Her right eyebrow manages to climb a fraction or two higher. “Willow?”

I exhale. “Fine. Mom and I talked last night. About our idea.”

“Ahh!” She lets out a little scream, then gets closer to the screen, her face a bright, beaming circle as she bounces excitedly. “La vache! Last night was the night, wasn’t it? No wonder you’re acting so coy with me, I forgot to ask how it went. What did she think? Did she think our idea was brilliant?”

I grip the phone a little tighter. “Well… that’s one way to put it.”

Bea completely misses my tone, taking off at a full gallop. “Mom and I have it all worked out. We’ll share a room, and you can drive to school with us. I leave school early every day for ballet, but you can take the bus home. You can spend Christmas with us, or maybe we’ll all go to spend time with your dad—”

“Bea,” I say, but she doesn’t notice. Once Bea gets going, momentum seems to take over.

“Applications are due in only a week, but if you need more time, my mom can get the principal to make an exception. You’ll need an essay and to send your transcript. Do you think you should come a week or two before? And are you okay with sharing a bedroom with me?”

My stomach is cannonballing like the preteens in the pool because Bea sounds as excited as I was and now I have to tell her the terrible news. “Bea!” My tone finally catches her attention. I take a deep breath. “Bea, she won’t let me go.”

Her mouth opens slightly. “What?”

“My mom said no.” My words hang heavy in the humid air.

“But why would she say no? It’s all planned. We’ve arranged everything.” When she’s impatient, her French accent gets a bit stronger.

My stomach is churning. I pull my knees into my chest, try to breathe. “She said I need to be focusing on college.”

“But… what does that have to do with anything? You can focus on college here.”

I hug my knees in tighter. “That’s what I told her.”

“And?” Bea says.

My miserable face must say it all.

“Merde,” she whispers. Her brows furrow, and we’re silent for a moment. “Do you want my mom to call yours? She might be able to give her another perspective. She loves it when her students have experience in other countries.”