A moment of panic engulfed her. What will I do? She steadied her hyperactive heart. I’ll train even harder and Bossemi will invite me again.

When she lost her last bout, Mr. Clipboard joined her. He had been evaluating her all evening. She braced for the dismissal.

“Tomorrow you’ll work with Signore Salvatori,” he said. He flipped a paper. “We’ll arrange a practice time with your tutor. I’ll need contact information.”

It took her a moment to recover from her surprise. “I go to James Edward High.”

“Oh.” Scanning the page, he marked it. “Then you can have Salvatori’s seven to ten p.m. slot. Do you speak Italian?”

“No, but I’m fluent in French.” Since fencing bouts were officiated in French, she had been determined to learn it.

“Salvatori only teaches in Italian so you may want to learn a few words for your lessons each evening.”

“Each?” Ava tried to keep up with the information.

“If we are to teach you anything, you’re to be here every night, and from two to five on Saturday. You have Sunday off; Sandro Bossemi is a devout Catholic.”

Dazed, Ava walked to the locker room. Conflicting emotions warred in her. She was thrilled to not be dismissed, but daunted by the training schedule.

By the time she changed, the room was empty. She would have loved to leave her heavy gear bag here, but she had school practice tomorrow afternoon. Guess I’ll be doing my homework on the bus. When she calculated her travel time, she realized she would also be eating her dinner on the bus. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a side order of diesel fumes. Wonderful.

Pulling out her cell phone, she called her mother.

“Donny’s 24-Hour Diner, can I help you?”

“I’d like an extra large banana split to go please,” Ava said.