“Thank you,” she said.

I had no idea how this would play out. But here’s what I knew for sure: I wouldn’t be giving Clay a secret cabinet of Garfields at school, after all.

I’d be giving him a super-secret cabinet of Garfields.

* * *

Then, in late April, on the Friday of the near-the-end-of-year faculty party, Duncan closed the cafeteria for the day and sponsored a lunch picnic in the courtyard for the kids.

Mrs. Kline had taped big signs on the cafeteria doors that said, CLOSED FOR DECORATING.

It seemed like a lot of decorating.

But when I showed up at the party that night, I figured out why.

Duncan had brought back the butterfly mural.

Before I noticed the room strung with bulb lights and lanterns, and the round tables covered in festive cloths and candles, the first thing I saw—the only thing I saw, for a while there—was the butterflies. They were even more beautiful than I remembered.

I stared up at them for a while before I looked around for Duncan.

He was across the room, chatting with Mrs. Kline, but as soon as I spotted him, he seemed to feel my eyes on him. He looked over and watched me walk toward him.

“The butterflies are back,” I said, unable to disguise the tenderness in my voice.

“Yes.”

“The paint really was removable,” I said, shaking my head. “You scrubbed it off.”

“You didn’t believe the paint would come off?”

“I believed that you believed it.”

We both turned toward the mural.

My eyes stung a little bit. “But, if I’m honest, I didn’t really expect to see it again.”

Duncan gave me a little smile. “Surprise.”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice like a whisper.

Duncan nodded.

“Does this mean you think the world is a better place now?”

Duncan gave me a little sideways smile. “I think my world is better when you aren’t mad at me.”

“Fair enough,” I said. Though I hadn’t been mad at him in a good while.

There were twinkle lights strung across the ceiling, and quiet music on the speaker system, and drinks and food all around. Mrs. Kline had brought a lemon cake, and Coach Gordo had brought home-brewed beer. The teachers were showing up and filling the room—ready to bring a long school year to a close.

For a second, I found myself thinking about how I hadn’t been to a party since Max’s birthday, and I wondered if it might be hard for Babette to be here. And that’s when I remembered I had a message for Duncan.

“By the way,” I said, “Babette says you’re done with your tasks for her, as well. So you’re a free man. Now. Mostly. As long as you don’t … relapse.”

Duncan held very still, and I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or just stoic. “The tasks are over?”

I shrugged, like Yep. “In fact, she instructed me to tell you that she’s very pleased with your work.”

“Huh,” he said, nodding, like it was taking a minute to sink in.

“She just has one more task for you. A grand finale.”

“I knew there’d be a catch.”

“Babette is nothing if not surprising.”

“What is it?”

And then I shrugged—because I truly didn’t know. I reached into my purse and pulled out an envelope she’d given me for Duncan. A sealed envelope. She’d even put a gold sticker on the back, like at the Oscars.

I handed it over.

“What’s it going to say?” Duncan asked, shaking his head.

“Let’s find out.”

Duncan opened the envelope and looked at the card inside for a minute. Then he blinked and looked up. “She wants you to dance with me.”

I felt a familiar tightness in my chest. “When? Now?”

“Right now,” Duncan said. “Right here.”

“I can’t do that,” I said.

“Neither can I.”

“So don’t even think about—” I started, but then I stopped. “Hold on. You can’t do that?”

He shook his head.

That wasn’t right. At Andrews, he had danced all the time. He danced in the lunch line, and at car pool, and while teaching. You almost couldn’t stop him. “But you’re a dance instructor,” I said. He had dances on YouTube.

Duncan shook his head. “Not anymore.”

A whole montage of Duncan doing endless goofy dances flashed through my head. Me refusing to dance? That was fine. That was reasonable. But Duncan refusing to dance? It was an outrage.

“Duncan,” I said, “you can’t not dance.”

“Sure I can.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You have to do this.” And as I spoke the words, something shifted in me. I became more interested in making Duncan dance than in avoiding it myself.

A world where Duncan Carpenter refused to dance just didn’t make sense to me.

Babette wanted Duncan to dance? I would find a way to make that happen.

“We’re doing this,” I said. I held my hand out

But Duncan shook his head. “I can’t,” he said.

“You can,” I said. Then I added, “Babette’s orders.”

I was still holding my hand out, but he wasn’t taking it.

He shook his head. “I really can’t.”

All the teachers were staring at me now—at us.

I let my hand fall to my side. This was getting embarrassing.

“What’s the problem?” I asked, stepping a little closer.

“I haven’t danced in a long time,” Duncan said.

“I haven’t danced ever,” I said, “except in my living room. But that’s not stopping me.” Actually, it might stop me. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if he didn’t take charge.

Duncan shook his head, like Don’t do this.

Should I do it?

I took the card out of his hand and read it. “Final task,” it said. “Dance with Sam. Right now. Mrs. Kline has a song queued up for you.”

I looked around. Mrs. Kline was watching us, at the ready. The room was watching us, too, trying to figure out what was going on. Duncan was watching me, wondering what I was going to do next.

What was I going to do next?

I hesitated.

And then I remembered something Max used to say. Do something joyful.

And so I just knew. We were doing this. He didn’t want to, and I sure as hell didn’t want to, but we were doing it anyway.

I looked over at Mrs. Kline, and I gave her a little nod.

Then I said, “Well, if it’s really been a long time, I bet you miss it.”

Duncan blinked.

“I can’t make you dance with me,” I said. “But I’m kind of hoping I can tempt you.”

Duncan shook his head.

“I bet that you can’t resist whatever Babette’s got queued up.”

Duncan shook his head. “I can resist anything. I resist things every day. I am a world-champion resister.”

I raised my eyebrows, like Touché. “So this is a very low-risk proposition for you.”

I could sense his competitive spirit rising. “It’s not low risk, it’s no risk.”

“You don’t know what the song is yet. Maybe it’s irresistible.” I didn’t know, either, but he didn’t know that.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I won’t.”

“Worry about yourself.”

Actually, I should have been worrying about myself. Because I’d just chosen a path that I’d have no choice but to dance my way out of.

Not good. At all.

But this was happening.

“Hey!” I shouted then to the room, before Duncan could stop me. The few teachers in the room who weren’t already watching us looked over. “Principal Carpenter thinks he can resist an irresistible song!” I pointed at him exaggeratedly. “And so I dare him not to dance!”

The room cheered me on.

I glanced over at Duncan. Was he hating this? Or kind of liking it?

Little bit of both, maybe.

Kind of like me.

His face was stern, but his eyes had a challenge-accepted look. “Get ready for disappointment,” he said.

“Get ready to dance,” I said right back.

“Mrs. Kline,” I said, “will you please do the honors?”

Mrs. Kline gave an efficient nod and hit play.

Just percussion at first, a kind of slinky, syncopated, almost tropical sound. The kind of rhythm that just takes hold of your hips and starts swinging them for you.

Duncan cocked his head. “Is this George Michael?”

I pointed at him. “Good ear.”

Then came deep, chunky piano chords underneath. Big. Loud. Filling up the room. The sound system definitely worked.

Duncan looked around for Babette and found her watching from over by the butterflies. “You could pick any song in the world, and you picked ‘Freedom! ’90’?”

“Alice picked it, actually,” she said, pointing at Alice, who waved. “She read an article that said it’s the best dance song in the world. Mathematically.”

Duncan snorted.

“According to Alice, it’s neurologically irresistible.”

Duncan looked back at me, like You minx. Then he spread his feet shoulder width and closed his eyes.

He thought he could resist music by closing his eyes?

Oh, I had this thing won.

The teachers were all watching to see what was going to happen.

It was time to make this work.

The best thing I could possibly do to get Duncan dancing was to do it myself. Dancing was contagious. But that familiar hitch at the thought—that deer-in-the-headlights compulsion to stand very still—had me paralyzed.