CHAPTER 1
Worst in Class

Violet hung up the phone and turned to me with a huge grin. “That was Teacher Wilson, with our test scores. You’ll never guess who got the highest in the class.”

I knew it couldn’t be me. I was pretty sure I’d barely passed, if at all. “I’m going to say you?”

Violet nodded happily and did a little victory dance. My younger sister prided herself on always being the best at everything she did. Now, she could add sailing to her list.

I groaned. “Did he say if I made it?”

“Oh Nina, he did…,” Violet said with a sigh. I could tell she wasn’t really sympathetic. She was too over the moon at being the best in class to care whether I’d passed the written portion of the test. But if I didn’t pass, I wouldn’t be able to take the practical test in two days.

Everyone in class would get to take their boats out for a solo trip. And parents would be coming to watch. It was a huge deal. Mom would take the morning off from work. Dad was even flying here to Bali, from our home in Seattle, just to witness his daughters’ accomplishments. But would it only be Violet sailing her boat? Would I be a big disappointment to the family? I was an okay sailor… but I always choked under pressure.

“Well?” I asked, half not wanting to know the answer.

Violet looked serious for a second, and then her face broke into another grin. “You made it!” she squealed, jumping up and down. “We’re both going to do our sail test!”

The doorbell rang, like it did every weekday morning at nine sharp. Violet was still dancing around the living room, so I went to let in Lilli, our nanny-slash-homeschool tutor. As she stepped inside, she brought with her a blast of hot, tropical heat.

“Ready for school, girls?” Lilli said with a smile. “Or are we too excited for the sailing test? Teacher Wilson told me the good news. All eight of you in the class passed the written test. This is a first for him. He’s very proud. And so am I!”

I grabbed my schoolbooks and headed for the study room Mom had set up for us when we moved here. Violet was already in her seat with her first textbook open and ready to go. Everything was a competition for my eleven-year-old sister—even being the first to be ready for the day’s lessons. Maybe when she got to my age in two years, she’d slow down. I could only hope.

The next few hours flew by. We tackled math, history, geography, science, and language arts. I barely noticed as the sun rose high into the sky, shining through the large windows of our study room. Violet would finish each assignment quickly, then go stand at the window and sigh. She was dying to get out onto the beach.

The last lesson of the day was learning basic Indonesian phrases. On the island of Bali, many languages were spoken, but Indonesian was the most common. Even though a lot of people also spoke at least some English, Lilli felt it was important for us to learn Indonesian. After all, we were living here for a year, so we should learn to speak the local language.

At least this was one thing I was pretty good at—even better than good-at-everything Violet. After six months of lessons, I could carry on a basic conversation in Bahasa Indonesia.

As a treat that day, Lilli brought us her famous Nasi Goreng, Indonesian fried rice, for lunch. It was my favorite dish. Since living here, I’d learned to love spicy foods.

“Terima Kasih,” I said, thanking our teacher for the meal.

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “I’ll teach you how to cook it so you can make it for yourself when you return to America.”

When we first moved here for Mom’s work, I couldn’t wait to go back to the U.S. But now, I couldn’t imagine leaving Bali. The island truly was a paradise. People from all over the world lived here, and we got to hang out on the beach every day (after lessons, of course). The food was delicious, the weather was beautiful, and the people were friendly. What more could a person ask for?

I knew what I would ask for. I wanted to be able to sail a boat all by myself.

It wasn’t like I was bad at sailing. I knew all the parts of the boat. I’d memorized and understood all the rules and procedures for safe sailing. But once the word “test” was brought up, my brain would freeze. It was like that with schoolwork as well as sailing tests. No matter how well I knew my subjects, I had serious performance anxiety.

I had been lucky, this time, to pass the written portion of the test—and it was only because I was given extra time to finish. But the actual sailing test was a whole different kettle of fish. Would I be able to get through it?