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had stroked Valerie’s hand the first morning before Sarah and I set off together as Valerie sniffled over her boiled eggs. I liked having Sarah’s company as we trod along Fieldston Road to school each morning and back each afternoon. I now looked forward to the walk, which had seemed lonely the year before—to the earthy smell of the leaf piles along the curbs of the landscaped yards, to the game Sarah and I sometimes played, imagining scandalous secrets of the inhabitants of the most stately homes. In the evenings, of course, with our many assignments, all games ended. And we toiled over our work as Mama remained close.
    But during the third week of the semester, I brought home a slip of paper—a notice to all high school parents of the options for participation in some extracurricular activity. I could choose a club—drama, chess, or debate—or a sport—track, volleyball, or swimming. All activities met after school, the clubs two times a week, the sports teams five. The slip was to be signed, it said, by a parent or guardian.
    As Mama scanned the paper, she adjusted the reading glasses on the bridge of her nose, pushing them close to her eyes, then pulling them forward, as if she could not find just the right position. “Do you really think it’s wise, Ruth, to take hours away from the time you need for schoolwork? And you’re in high school now—your assignments will only become more challenging.”
    “But the activities don’t last the entire year, Ma. Besides, I’ve been keeping up with all of my quizzes and papers.”
    I saw the pen Mama held in her hand. Already I knew which box I wanted her to check. The previous year, the windows of my homeroom had overlooked the school’s glass-walled pool, and at the end of the afternoon, as I packed my books, I had often caught glimpses of the swim team members stretching on the pool deck in their racing suits, diving gracefully into the water, skimming the surface like sailfish.
    As I’d walked home that day, I had imagined myself gliding beside them and wondered if I could remember all of the swimming techniques Poppy had taught me. When I told Mama what I was hoping for, she nodded but looked past me, out the kitchen window, as if something there annoyed her. Over the weekend, we had driven to Scarsdale to visit Nadia and Leonid. Gregory had just joined his school’s Model United Nations Club. “They investigate
all
kinds of international affairs,” Nadia had told Mama. “Gregory was the ambassador from France in their last debate.” She showed Mama all of the materials Gregory had studied to prepare for his role and then the award he had received for Best Delegate. Mama had looked impressed. “It’s too bad your school doesn’t offer Model United Nations, isn’t it?” Mama had turned to me.
    But now she said, “Five practices a week, Ruthie. What about the chess club? It’s far less time-consuming. And did I ever tell you Uncle Jacob and I used to play chess for hours together in the Shanghai ghetto? Jacob made us a set out of bits of wood. And then when we came to this country, our Papa bought us a real set with all the proper directions. I still remember lots of tricks. I could teach you—”
    But when I begged and begged, Mama finally agreed, as long as I promised that if my grades suffered in any way, I would quit.
    The first swim practice was scheduled for the following Monday. In my blue bathing suit with orange piping and wrapped in the beach towel Mama had packed in my bag that morning, I followed the other team members along the corridor of the gym and down the cold tile stairs thatled to the pool. The towel was meant to cover me when I was not in the water, but no one else, I noticed as we settled ourselves on the bleachers, bothered with such modesty. So before taking my seat, I quickly pulled at my towel, rolling it into a loose ball on my lap.
    Coach Hadley, as I heard the older team members call him, stood facing us, his back to the