Everyone within earshot laughed.

Amelia was grateful that Ms. Noggle hadn’t heard.

Now Amelia burned inside, remembering the incident. Her eyes were glittering, and she was sure her cheeks and ears were red.

Amelia turned her attention back to the book in her hands. She glanced at the poems Mrs. O’Brien had flagged. The first line of one of the poems was “The Bustle in a House.” The Post-it marking it had writing on it. In Mrs. O’Brien’s familiar, neat, petite cursive, it said Reminds me of Gordon, explains him.

Because of Mrs. O’Brien’s note, Amelia read the poem hungrily.

The Bustle in a House

The Morning after Death

Is solemnest of industries

Enacted upon Earth–

The Sweeping up the Heart

And putting Love away

We shall not want to use again

Until Eternity.

Amelia read the poem three times. She pictured her father’s heart literally broken into tiny pieces. She pictured Mrs. O’Brien sweeping up the pieces and putting them into a jar, her hollowed-out father watching with a grave, faraway look in his eyes. She pictured the jar stashed away on some high shadowed shelf—in her father’s bedroom closet or in his study or in his office on campus.

Amelia knew her father loved her on a basic level, but maybe this poem explained his inability to express his love in an easy, natural, common way. Maybe, because of her mother’s death, he couldn’t love, really love, anyone or anything ever again.

Amelia shivered. She closed the book with a snap. She wished she hadn’t read the poem.

10 • Quiz

And, then, finally, it was Monday morning. Amelia felt steady inside as she entered the clay studio. There was a glimmer of light in her dull life.

She could see Casey in the workroom. He was busy writing in a notebook. His head was inclined, his hand and arm moved jerkily, in spurts, up and down, back and forth. Beside him, drying, stood a new Eiffel Tower. Tall. Elegant. Beautiful.

“Wow,” said Amelia, instead of a greeting. “That’s really good.”

“Well,” said Casey, waving the compliment away, “Louise helped a lot.” He flashed an off-kilter grin. “Actually, it’s more hers than mine.”

Amelia circled the sculpture, looking closer. “When did you make it?”

“Yesterday.”

“What happened to the other one?”

“I smashed it into a million pieces,” said Casey. “That was fun.”

Amelia couldn’t tell if she was jealous of the new Eiffel Tower or not. It was really good. “What are you going to work on today?” she asked.

“I’m working on this,” he replied, tipping his head toward his notebook.

“What is it?”

“I’m writing a quiz about myself for my parents to take. They’ve both been so caught up in hating each other that I feel like they don’t really know me anymore. So, I’m hoping that taking the quiz—which I’m sure they’ll both fail—will shock them into staying together. For my sake, if nothing else.” He looked up at her with his heart in his eyes.