at it can turn into another r

iliation like a sport: tripping Ariel when she carried water, hiding her notebooks, mimicking the way she hesitated at pronouncing difficult words. Sometimes one of them would steal her only colored pencil and break it, as if to test the edge

check the corner where her notebook lay and gather it to her like gold. She would rehearse replies before speaking and invent

believes their truth is obvious, "You were always a difficult child." Those statements had the precision of knives. They shaped h

e herself in pages, afternoons when Efua would slip her a bright mango, the sensation of a problem solved on paper. In a wooden chair, with dusk falling, she would d

d names that felt almost lyrical. She read about constellations and the mapping of distance and felt for a moment that constellations were like people: patterns

larship. Maybe if she kept quiet and brilliant, someone would see the light inside her. These bargains were dangero

e, a cousin smashed a glass and blamed Ariel; she was forced to pay in the only currency she had: dignity. Aunt Maame struck a new tone, one of irritation, whenever Ariel came home with an ex

er where she stored kindnesses and dreams, the poems that smelled faintly of orange peel. She would