But then her role became a prison as the age of flirtation descended and Marianne found herself locked out of its frivolities. Her reputation made her self-conscious. How could The Judge bat her eyelashes and giggle? How could she feign the silliness necessary to play such games? She was not well suited to flirtation in a physical sense, either. She was tall and dark and awkwardly proportioned, with coltish long limbs, a flat chest, and a somber face.

Even so, Marianne imagined that her connection to Connie was meant to transition into something more adult, more gendered. More romantic. What exactly that entailed, she did not consider, but she believed it was a given, as confusing as it was promising.

Then one night their little group went swimming in the moonlight. There was a ball at the hotel and all the adults were swept up in the excitement. It was a hot night and the ballroom was fetid with the stink of alcohol and perfume, waxy hothouse lilies and sweat. The children escaped to the beach, stripping their clothes as they went, giddy with the excitement of transgression. The sand was still warm from the sun, and the Baltic looked especially soft in the windless darkness, the waves barely lapping at their toes. One by one, they plunged into the water, laughing and calling out.

For most, the swim was quick. Despite the calm, they were frightened of the blackness, and they charged back up the dunes to pull on their dresses, shirts, and trousers, crouching and shrieking at the prospect of being seen naked. But Marianne and Connie remained. They swam as if it were a competition to see who would turn back first. When she finally stopped, her heart pounding, she became aware of her body, naked below the surface, suspended precariously over the depths. Connie noticed and turned and swam back to her, emerging nearby, shaking the water from his hair. Above them, stars twinkled through the haze, and in the distance, the hotel sparkled like a cruise ship. For a moment, Marianne was terrified. Of their distance from the shore and of the unknown deep, but also of Connie, her own nakedness, and her certainty that this was the moment that would change their relationship. Her whole body thrilled with anticipation.

But just as she began to swim in his direction, he dove under the water.

“I won,” he called when he surfaced, farther away. Then with confident, lazy strokes he started toward the shore.

One afternoon, Benita, Katarina, and Elisabeth returned from town, flush faced and laughing, their light moods discordant with Marianne’s.

“You have a note, from Herr Peterman,” Elisabeth exclaimed. She held out a thin envelope. “Maybe we’re invited to one of their parties!” Elisabeth was preoccupied with the thought of attending an American army event and dancing with a soldier. Where did she get these ideas? Benita? The doltish Ehrenheim girls she had recently met? She was only thirteen.

Marianne took the envelope and tore it open.