“Are you upset that you can’t stomp around like a caveman and pee on my leg?” I poked his shoulder. “I’m not a tree, Your Highness.”

“A little boy was tugging on his pant leg.'Teacher, I have to pee.'Avila woke from his skating dreams and looked around, pointed to some trees by the shore that grew out over the water; the bare network of branches fell like a shielding curtain toward the ice.'You can pee there.'The boy squinted at the trees.'On the ice?''Yes? What is wrong with that? Makes new ice. Yellow.”

“Maybe I should know the rules,” he says softly. “Pfft. I’m not a game.” I reach out to poke his shoulder, and unexpectedly he catches my finger. “Sometimes, I’m not so sure.”

“all he’s done since then is poke me with his pen.” “Probably because he wants to poke you with something else,” she said dryly. My eyes bugged. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“And I never felt this way with anyone else. Like I’m falling every time I’m around you, like I can’t catch my breath, and I feel alive—not just standing around and letting my life walk past me. There’s been nothing like that with anyone else.”

“You found a dress?” he asked, smiling.“Yeah,” I wrapped my legs and arms around him. Tomorrow it’s going to be your turn to be freaked out.”“I’m looking forward to it.”