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“See!” I say, turning back to Mom and Dad. “If your Black Excellence prototype says it, will you listen?”

I’m joking... but not really. The bite in my voice is clear.

“Oh, Lenore,” Mom says, reaching out for both of my hands. “Youareexcellence. Whatever you choose to do. You are so brilliant, so creative. I’m always amazed at the way your mind works. How could you ever think we would see you differently?”

“I know we’ve always pushed you to excel. To be the best,” Dad says. His words come out slow, halting, like he’s processing them as he goes. “We just wanted... the whole world for you. But we are proud of you, always. Your best is the best.”

I sigh. “Well, that isn’t always loud and clear.”

Mom and Dad look at each other, something unspoken passing between them. When they turn back to me, both of their faces soften.

“I’m so sorry for that, baby,” Mom says, pulling me into a hug. I can feel Dad join in too.

“We’ll talk. We’lllisten,” he says. “We’ll figure this out together.”

We stay like that awhile, until a knock on the door interrupts. “Room service,” a muffled voice calls from the other side.

The guy wheels in two carts full of food, and we all crowd together, around the tiny table, eating and laughing and talking. It feels a lot like the night before, when we were all together in my and Wally’s room. But this time there isn’t silence. There aren’t big unspoken feelings. I’m not trying to fill in the gaps with the worst possible things they could be thinking. This time feels right.

“Lenore, I think you’re brave,” Etta says, between mouthfuls of the butter pasta she ordered. “For making your own path, I mean. Mae Jemison was a dancer at first, and then she double-majored in chemical engineering and African American studies. Andthenshe went to medical school and joined the Peace Corps, all before she was accepted into the astronaut program in her thirties. People don’t always follow a straight line.”

“Well, let’s not get crazy here,” I laugh. “Don’t get Mom and Dad’s hopes up. I’m not going to be Mae Jemison.”

“I think you could be anything,” she says, beaming at me with wide, dancing eyes.

The tears come again, and I let them.

Later that night, Wally is asleep in his bed, and I’m so grateful that his chain-saw snoring only annoys me a little bit.

I hardly hear the soft knock at the door because he’s so loud. I look through the peephole, see who’s there, and silently debatewhether or not I should open it. Curiosity wins out.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” Alex says, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. He’s wearing a black-and-white-striped button-up and jeans. His curls perfectly fall in his eyes. He looks good. Too good. I immediately doubt my decision to open the door.

“I know you don’t want to see me. I just... wanted to make sure everything was okay. I heard what happened.”

I try to keep my face and my tone cold, impassive. “He’s fine.”

He nods. “But what about you?”

That throws me off. Why in the world does he still care about me? I thought I had very thoroughly ended all of that.

“I’m fine,” I say. My voice cracks and I hate it.

He looks at me in that searching way, as if his brown eyes can see right into me. And I’m hit with this overwhelming desire to fill him in on the conversation I just had with my parents, the plans I’m already starting to make for how this next year might go.

I know he would be excited. More than anyone.

But wait.I stop myself.

I don’t want to open doors that should remain closed. I want to keep my heart, my happiness, protected.

“Tomorrow’s the last full day on the ship, you know,” he continues, taking the opening. My feelings must be all over my face. He can read it so well.

“I know.”

“We got assigned the first disembarkation time, I’m pretty sure, in Barcelona. So we’ll be off the ship early, but we’re not flying back home until the next day. I think we’re going to Park Güell. What time are you—”