Annabelle wondered what it had been like for Janine to stand out from other island kids in two ways—because she went to the Academy and because her skin was a different color—and what a relief it must have been to go to college in New York City, where she probably didn’t have to stand out so much all the time.

“You ready to start?” Janine asked.

They took turns reading pages aloud, and Janine paused to ask comprehension questions all the time because even though Annabelle’s “verbal intelligence” and “reading fluency” were technically sort of high according to all that testing she’d had, her “processing ability” was terrible, which meant she had trouble remembering what she’d read. And when Annabelle couldn’t answer Janine’s comprehension questions because she’d zoned out staring at the sparkling gray ocean and wondering if the team would win their meet on the Cape today without her, they had to go back and read the last page all over again.

After they’d finally finished a chapter, Janine nodded at someone at the other end of the room, over by the copier. It was a shortish guy who was wearing khaki shorts that ended halfway down his calves and waving at Janine with a grin on his face. Annabelle didn’t know his name, but she knew he was in Connor’s class at Gray Island High. She’d seen them hanging out together in town.

“My friend’s little brother,” Janine said. “I saw him at a party last weekend. I remember him being, like, your age.”

The way she said it made it sound like somebody Annabelle’s age would still ride a bike with training wheels.

The guy headed over.

“How’s it going, Mark?” Janine said.

“Hey! You coming tomorrow night?” he asked. “Bonfire on the beach by Bailey Sound. Should be a good crowd.”

He stuck his hands into the pockets of his too-long shorts and leaned back a little, puffing out his chest. There was something too purposeful about the way he stood there—like he was telling himself to be casual. Annabelle thought of math problems and how you were always supposed to show your work so the teacher would know what you were trying to do. In real life, it was better if people couldn’t see so clearly what you were attempting.

“I don’t think so,” Janine said. “But have fun.”

“Next time, maybe?” the guy—Mark—asked.

Janine gave him the same vague, let’s-keep-things-moving nod Annabelle got when she tried to talk about something other than her work.

“Sure, maybe.”

Then Mark trudged away, and Janine searched the book for the place they’d left off. Did Janine not realize that this guy liked her? Or not really care, since she was in college and he was still in high school?

“Okay, you’re three-quarters of the way down this page,” Janine said.

Annabelle found the spot and began to read again, but then she glanced up, out the window at that distant line of ocean, and something occurred to her.