I took off my glove and rang the doorbell nervously. What if Miko’s dad answered? Was he going to be mad?

Relax, I told myself, slipping my already-freezing hand back into the glove. Miko needed a copy of Animal Farm so she could start her extra-credit reading, and I happened to have a copy. I’m just bringing it over like she asked, I told myself.

Still, when the door opened and Miko herself was standing there and not her dad, I felt a rush of relief.

“Did you bring the book?” she asked. “Thank you so much, Paulie. I can get it back to you before they even assign it, but I need to get a head start on things where I can. If I can get most of Animal Farm read tonight, I’ll be able to cross that off my list, at least.”

She looks seriously tired, I thought, examining my friend’s pale face and the shadows under her eyes. As a blast of frigid air hit her face, her cheeks reddened suddenly.

“No worries,” I said. “When they officially assign it, they’ll just hand us our school copies, anyway. This is an old paperback my mom already had at home. No rush getting it back.”

“I’ll take good care of it,” Miko said. “Brrr, it’s even colder out than yesterday,” she added, looking over my shoulder. “Why don’t you come in for a second?”

I WAS cold. More importantly, I really wanted to talk to Miko and get a sense of how she was actually doing.

“My dad’s not home right now,” Miko said. “He’s at the downtown office on Friday afternoons, and he doesn’t get home until six usually. It’s okay. I could really use a little break. My head is pounding right now.”

“Okay, I will come in for a little while,” I said, relieved. I followed Miko inside. She led me down a short corridor with polished, wide-planked wooden floors. I suddenly worried that I was tracking snow in, but I hadn’t noticed a mat anywhere.

“This is the kitchen,” Miko said, entering the room at the end of the hallway. “Pull up a chair. I’m just gonna run and tell my mom you’re here for a bit.”

Miko hastily filled a teakettle with water, put it on the stove to boil, then opened a door in the corner of the kitchen to reveal a tiny back staircase, which she ran up.

I sat down at the table and looked around. Miko’s kitchen was much smaller than mine and extremely tidy. The stove gleamed, and the countertops were free of clutter except for a set of aluminum storage containers arranged in size order. A large clock over the sink told me in no uncertain terms it was 5:15. The house seemed totally quiet except for the ticking of the clock.

I heard creaking on the stairs, and Miko came through the door.

“Mom’s on the phone,” Miko said. “She’ll come say hi when she’s free. So does hot cocoa sound good to you?”

“You have no idea,” I said. “I’d love one.”

“Me too,” she said.

She opened one of the overhead cabinets, took down two mugs, and retrieved a tin of cocoa from another shelf.

“Wow, I’ve never seen that brand before,” I said, admiring the gold tin.

Miko smiled. “It’s Godiva,” she told me. “It is crazy good, you won’t believe it. That pianist who was here on New Year’s Eve brought it as a gift. I could eat it by the spoonful right out of the box.”

“I can’t wait to try it,” I told her, my mouth watering a little. “So the assembly you missed this afternoon was pretty boring. A guy talking about the power of numbers and why being an accountant is actually, like, this incredibly exciting job. A few people that shall remain nameless actually dozed off. I’m not sure, but I think one of the eighth-grade boys might have been talking in his sleep. He kept saying something like, ‘I don’t have any barnacles!’”

Miko laughed. “Can’t say I’m sorry I missed it,” she said. “My dad got Principal Finley to agree to let me out early, since my only class after the assembly was gym. Got in an extra hour of practicing already, so hopefully he’ll be happy.”

Are you happy? I wanted to ask. But I decided to wait. Miko was hard to read sometimes. She could be open about her feelings, or if you pushed at the wrong time, she could close up like a clam. On the stove top, the kettle began to whistle.

“Love that sound,” I said. “My stomach is already growling.”

Miko carefully measured two tablespoons of the Godiva chocolate into each mug. “See this, it’s actually more like chocolate shavings than powder,” she pointed out. “This stuff is ridiculously fabulous.”

She opened the fridge and got out a carton of milk, which she poured into a Pyrex cup. She put that in the microwave to heat. When the bell rang a minute later, Miko poured some of the steaming milk into each mug. She frowned slightly while pouring, and I noticed again the dark circles under her eyes.

“It’s much better if you make it with half water, half milk,” Miko explained as she poured in the water. “Okay—it’s all ready. Do you want to take these upstairs to my room?”

“If that’s okay,” I said. “I’m meeting Ivy for a slice at the pizza place at six, which is just, like, a five-minute walk from here, so that’s perfect.”

I had never been to Miko’s house before. She had texted me after school asking if I had a copy of Animal Farm, and when I replied that I did, she asked me to drop it off at her house. I’d been excited to see her house and have a couple minutes to talk to her alone, but I hadn’t thought she’d be inviting me in.

I followed Miko up the little staircase, which had smaller-than-normal steps and which wound around in a spiral. I held my cocoa carefully out in front of me. It smelled amazing, and I didn’t want to spill any.

The stairway opened onto a small landing. At one end was a small bedroom and bathroom, and a narrow hallway extended to the left.

“This is my room,” Miko said, leading me through the door at the end of the landing.

My first thought as I followed Miko through the door was This is tiny! Her room was about a third the size of mine, and mine wasn’t exactly enormous. But everything was set up very carefully with an eye for saving space. On the left was a raised bed, like the top of a bunk bed without the bottom, built into the wall. Below that was a desk with small bookshelves on either side. The walls were decorated with prints of paintings and with black-and-white photographs of people playing the violin, some of which looked very old. Shelves were built up high on the walls, holding sweaters and hats. In the corner of the room was a music stand, and Miko’s violin sat on the floor next to it, in an open case with a red velvet lining. Above that hung an open Japanese parasol painted with tiny pink flowers and a snowcapped mountain.

“Oh, I love your room, Miko. It’s so you!”

“Not much space to move around,” she said. “But my dad designed all this himself. He grew up in Tokyo, and a lot of the apartments there are absolutely teeny. There’s all kinds of ways to make a room feel bigger.”

“I’d love to sleep on a top bunk like that,” I said.

“Yeah, I love it,” Miko said. “It’s like my own personal indoor tree house. Here, grab that chair,” she told me as she climbed a few rungs up the ladder to the bed and retrieved a large decorative pillow that she tossed onto the floor.

“But where are you going to sit?” I asked.

Miko put her cocoa carefully on the floor, then flopped down on top of the pillow.

“Right here,” she said. She picked up her mug, blew on it, then took a small sip.

“Ah,” she said. “That is exactly what I needed. A little chocolate and a break.”

I took a sip of mine, too, and almost squealed at the rich, velvety chocolate taste. “How can I ever drink plain old Swiss Miss again?” I asked.

Miko smiled briefly, then the little worried crease between her eyes appeared again.

“Meek, how are you doing? I mean, really? I’m a little worried about you—you look so tired.”

Miko took another sip of cocoa, then placed the mug on the floor. She seemed to be deciding what to say for a moment. I waited patiently, knowing not to push.

“I have to admit, this is about as stressed out as I’ve ever been,” she said. “I’m feeling okay about the piece I’m going to be playing for the audition. I’ve had so many extra violin lessons, and I must have played the thing a thousand times right here in this room. It’s the music-theory part that’s really tough.”

“I don’t really understand what music theory is,” I told Miko.

“Well, it’s complicated. It’s basically all the stuff the music is made up of—keys, scales, chords, tempo, all sorts of things like that. The conservatory is like any superserious music program—they want students who aren’t just performers but can show that they know what it is they’re playing and why. Like, here’s an example.”

She picked up her violin from its case, and without getting up, she played a simple tune. I knew it immediately and hummed along.

“Yeah, everyone knows that from The Sound of Music, right?” Miko asked. “Do, a deer, a female deer. Re, a drop of golden sun . . . those are just different names for notes. Do is C, re is D, mi is E, and so on. All that song is really about is a basic C scale. Listen.”

She played eight notes, and I sang along with the song I knew so well from watching Maria and the von Trapp children sing it dozens of times.

Miko pointed her bow at me. “Perfect. You just sang a C scale in the key of C major. That’s music theory, on about the simplest level it gets. No sharps or flats, all whole notes with the same interval between each note. Easy. But then you have something like this.”

She played another scale.

“Sounds the same, right?” she said. “But in this key, you have seven sharps. That’s a half tone above the regular note. So at this audition, they might ask me to take something in the key of C and change it to C-sharp major, or they might ask me to play a certain chord or interval in that key, or ask me what the relative minor is to that key, which all sounds like nonsense to you, I know. But I have to know all this stuff. Not just how to play it, but I have to listen to them play things and then identify them.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, for starters, they want to know if I have perfect pitch. You don’t have to have it, and you can’t really learn it. I think you’re either born with it or you aren’t. So if I have perfect pitch, someone can say, ‘Miko, give me an F sharp,’ and I play the note. Then they’ll play an F sharp to see if I got it right.”

Miko played one note on the violin.

“Or they might do it the other way around—they play a note and ask me what it is. If I have perfect pitch, I can identify it all by itself. Then they might do something like play a passage, and I have to tell them what key and time signature it’s in. And there are all these weird intervals between notes, things like minor thirds or diminished fifths. They’ll ask me to play those, or they’ll play them for me and want me to tell them what key and what interval it is.”

“Whoa,” I said. “I’m already confused.”

“That’s not even the half of it,” she said. “I’ll play my prepared piece for them, but then they’ll test my sight reading. Sight reading is basically the ability to be handed music you’ve never seen before and play it the first time through correctly. And there are some keys it’s superhard to read in—like that one I played you that has seven sharps. So I have to practice my scales obsessively, and some of them are really hard for me.”

I shook my head in amazement. “I had no idea there was so much to this, Miko. It seems crazy!”

“It’s pretty standard for a school like the Music Conservatory,” Miko told me, putting her violin back in its case. “That’s why it’s so supercompetitive to get in. That’s why my dad is riding me so hard.”

“About your dad . . .” I said, hesitating.

Miko gazed at me evenly with clear brown eyes. “You can ask. I’m not going to be offended or anything,” she said.

“Okay . . . I just wonder . . . the violin, the whole Music Conservatory program—how much of that came from your dad, and how much is really what you want?”

There. I’d finally just asked. Miko’s expression didn’t change, and she didn’t seem upset or irritated by the question.

“You’d think I would have a clear-cut answer to that,” Miko said. “But I’m not sure I do. Starting violin lessons was my idea—that I remember. When I was around eight or something, my mother suggested I think about taking up an instrument. She and my dad both have musicians in their families. I knew right away I wanted to try the violin. And after the first year or so, my teacher told my parents I had a real gift for it, and I was already way ahead of some of her intermediate students. I guess that’s when my dad first started getting kind of bossy about it. He found this new teacher for me who’s taught some really gifted musicians and convinced her to take me on. And from then on, my violin was always this superserious topic for him, you know. He wanted to see that I was working really hard on it and being absolutely the best I could be. That’s just his personality. He’s that way about my grades, too, and I’m an only child, so that all falls on me.”

“And what about your love of art?” I asked. “And design? Does he want you to be the absolute best artist, too?”

Miko shook her head. “No. In fact, he seems to see anything art related, which includes 4 Girls, as a kind of threat to my violin and my grades. Which is weird to me, because they’re both creative things, right?”

I nodded.

“I don’t know. I really didn’t start getting interested in drawing and designing until last year, and working on 4 Girls really brought it out in me. I mean, I surprised myself, I have to say. I didn’t know creating art would be something that I would enjoy so much, and that I’d be kind of good at it. And design, like fashion design—the stuff that I got to do with Garamond when we had the City Nation trip—that was really great, too, but . . . I think really it’s more like a hobby, you know? Something I just happen to be interested in. My dad was basically saying absolutely not about the summer design internship Garamond offered me from the first moment I mentioned it. That was actually okay. Don’t get me wrong, I would have loved to do it. But I didn’t feel like it was this huge thing I desperately wanted that he was keeping me from.”

“But you do sort of feel that way about art?” I pressed.

Miko sighed, reaching her hand toward the open violin case and absentmindedly plucking a few of the strings.

“I might. I’m just not sure yet,” she said. “Like I told you, I only really started getting interested in it recently. But the idea of being an artist, and of making a career out of painting and maybe teaching art in some way like Ms. Delacroix does . . . I think about that a lot. I can see myself living that life. It just feels so me, you know? The thing that really bugs me, Paulie, is it’s like my parents want me to decide right now or something. The conservatory would be a big deal, but it’s only a summer program. From there my dad sees me applying to be a student there full time in high school, which would require a scholarship that I don’t even want to think about, to pave the way to get into a top music college like Juilliard. This is what he keeps pressing on me—that if I want that, I have to work my butt off now and get into this summer program. But what if that isn’t what I want? What if I would rather be an artist? He never actually asks me that—he just assumes music is the way to go. I’m thirteen years old—am I really supposed to know without a doubt who I want to be yet? It doesn’t seem fair that I have to pick one or the other now.”

“It isn’t fair,” I said firmly. “And whatever your dad thinks, I don’t think you do have to decide right now. I mean, let’s say you do get into the Music Conservatory—that’s going to make your summer mostly about music. But that doesn’t mean your whole future is decided. Maybe you could look at it as just being a possibility. You’ve got all these options opening up. Miko, really, you’re so good at so many things. You shouldn’t have to choose just one. You’ve got, what, ten more days till the audition, right?”

Miko nodded.

“Okay, so after that, a big part of the pressure right now will be off. That part of things will be out of your hands. We’ll be finishing up the issue around then, but soon we’ll start working on the next one, and you’ll be right back in there doing it with us. And you’ve got the whole rest of the semester in Ms. Delacroix’s art class, so you will get to be working on art, for school! Just try to hang in there. And as far as your dad goes, maybe every once in a while make it clear what you want. There’s nothing wrong with taking a stand sometimes, if you’ve thought it through and it’s something important to you.”

Miko’s eyes grew shiny with tears. She got up and gave me a quick, tight hug.

“Thank you,” she said. “The way you put it makes total sense. It’s so clear. I’ve been thinking and thinking and thinking about all this, but I never come out of it with anything that helps. What you just said—that’s exactly what I needed to hear. What I need to remember. And I do need to take a stand. Thanks, Paulie.”

I flushed slightly, feeling wonderful. “Well, my mother IS a shrink,” I said. “Some of it probably rubbed off.”

“So listen, what’s going on with you?” Miko asked. “I know I’ve basically been living under a rock recently, but what’s the deal with Benny? Don’t think I haven’t noticed how bummed you’ve been.”

I groaned. “Oh, it’s such a mess now,” I said. “I should have just said something to him the first day we were back at school. I’ve let it go way too long.”

“So the last thing you heard was when he was sick over break and he was going to bring you a Christmas present when he felt better?” Miko asked.

I nodded.

“Yep. He never called after that. I have no idea why. And when I saw him in school the first day, he seemed . . . I don’t know—uncomfortable. Like something wasn’t right. I should have just asked him or sent him a text that day—that’s what Ivy kept telling me to do. Not saying anything just makes it worse every day that goes by. I mean, I figure there’s a problem. Probably he doesn’t want to go out anymore, maybe he likes someone else now, or maybe it’s just me. I mean, that much is obvious, right?”

“Um, no, it isn’t obvious. Why would you jump to that conclusion? Paulie, no offense, but I think you’re making a big mistake here,” Miko said. “You’re sitting around obsessing that Benny isn’t speaking to you—but he’s probably doing the same thing. What’s the big deal about just reaching out to the guy?”

I sighed. “Because I guess I’ve convinced myself he’s going to break up with me,” I told her. “Or that he already has. And I just keep thinking, isn’t it better to not know than to find out definitively that I’ve been dumped and have to face it? Because I’ve thought and thought about this, and I really think that’s what it comes down to. Much as it pains me to quote Shelby, I’ve heard her say that guys don’t call you to break up with you—they just ignore you.”

“Ugh, Shelby,” Miko said.

“Why, what’s going on?” I asked.

“Don’t change the subject,” Miko said sternly. “You and Benny have been a totally adorable couple—you haven’t even had any fights, have you? I just don’t understand why you would automatically leap to the conclusion that he’s dumped you. Sorry, Paulie, but that’s just kind of . . . dumb. And you are no dummy.”

I sighed. “I guess,” I said. “I think I still kind of have a lot of insecurity about Benny. Anyway, the damage is done. Even if he wasn’t mad at me, he will be now. It’s been, like, a week or something.”

“Wrong again,” Miko said, leaning forward and grabbing my book bag. She opened a little pocket on the side and pulled out my cell phone.

“Don’t!” I cried.

“I’m not doing anything,” she said, handing the phone to me. “You are. Send the guy a text message right now.”

I took the phone and stared at it like I didn’t know what it was used for. “But . . . what do I say?”

“Say, ‘Hey—is everything okay?’ It’s short and to the point. If you want to be more personal, say you’re worried about him.”

I swallowed, then opened the phone, opened Benny’s contact, and typed a quick sentence.

Hey—just wondering if you are okay? Kind of worried about you.

I turned the phone to face Miko, who leaned forward and read it.

“Perfect. Now hit send,” she told me.

I stared at her.

“The nice little green button. Push it one time with your finger,” Miko coaxed, like she was talking to a puppy.

I did it. A cloud of butterflies erupted in my stomach.

“Okay. It’s done.”

“Yay,” Miko said. “Don’t you feel better already?”

“No!” I exclaimed. “I’m even more nervous now! I’ve gone from thinking I’m not going to hear from him to being terrified I’m going to hear from him any second! Ugh, let’s just change the subject. So what did you mean about Shelby before?”

“Oh,” Miko said, making a face. “She’s just really getting on my nerves. She tries to be so supercompetitive about things, and at the same time, it’s like she hardly knows me at all anymore. She didn’t even come to my recital. I couldn’t believe that! She knew how important that was to me. And she didn’t apologize. She was just all defensive about having some other commitment and no ride. That really hurt my feelings. To be honest, I feel like we’re not really even friends anymore. And now she’s pulling something weird with the cover competition.”

“Weird how?” I asked.

There was a knock on Miko’s door, and Miko’s mother popped her head inside.

“Oh, hello, Paulina,” she said. “I didn’t realize Miko still had company. Miko, your father just got home, and he’d like to speak to you.”

Miko stood up quickly, and so did I.

“I’m sorry—I lost track of the time,” I said. “Is it already six? I’m going to be late to meet Ivy.”

“You still have a few minutes,” Miko said. “Don’t worry.”

“Nice to see you, Mrs. Suzuki,” I said.

She gave me a little pat on the arm as I walked out of Miko’s bedroom. “You’re welcome anytime, Paulina,” she said warmly.

I followed Miko down the back staircase and into the kitchen. Her father was sitting at the table reading a newspaper. He looked surprised when he saw me, but he said hello.

“Hi, Mr. Suzuki,” I said. “I just stopped by to give Miko a book she needs for school.”

“So, thanks for the loan,” Miko said.

“You’re welcome,” I told her. “Oops, I didn’t actually give it to you! Hang on.”

I unzipped my book bag, feeling awkward. The copy of Animal Farm was right on top, and I handed it to her.

“I’m just going to walk Paulie to the door, Dad,” Miko said. “Be right back.”

She followed me into the front hall and held my book bag while I pulled on my coat and hat. Before I put on my gloves, I checked my phone.

“He hasn’t answered yet,” I said.

Miko rolled her eyes. “It’s been less than five minutes! Paulie, promise me you will not obsess about this all night.”

“Miko?” her father called from the kitchen.

“I’ll try,” I said, opening the front door.

Miko gave me a quick hug. “Thanks for everything,” she said. “Say hi to Ivy for me.”

I smiled, opening the door all the way and wincing at the blast of frigid air on my face.

I was about to close the door when I remembered something.

“Hey, Miko, I forgot to ask if you have it!”

“Have what?” she asked, shooting a quick look over her shoulder and rubbing her hands over her arms against the cold.

“Perfect pitch.”

“Miko!” her father called again.

Miko put her hand on the door and began to close it, but before it was quite shut she smiled and said, “As a matter of fact, I do.”