The theater fills with applause, as it has after every song. Quint waves nonchalantly, an aw-shucks-but-please-stop wave, charming as ever, and steps off the stage.

I’m moving before I realize it, making my way through the tables.

His lips quirk when he sees me. He looks painfully insecure, but also hopeful. “I tried your trick,” he says, once we’re close enough. “I thought, it’s only four minutes of your life, Quint. You can get through this. But is it just me, or is that song, like, two hours long?”

“Songs always seem longer when you’re up there. I call it the karaoke time-warp.”

“Now you tell me.” His lashes dip briefly. His voice lowers. “So. How’d I do?”

I don’t know what to say. I can barely think, much less form coherent words.

And so, I start to laugh. Embarrassed, I clap a hand over my mouth.

Quint grimaces. “That bad?”

“No,” I say, daring to take one more step. He shoves his hands into his pockets and takes a step toward me, too. “I mean, you’re no John Lennon. But I’ve heard worse.”

“I’ll accept that.” He squeezes one eye shut. “Can we talk? Um … somewhere else?”

I take in a long breath, and nod.

The auditorium is empty and eerily quiet once Quint shuts the door. I walk a little ways down the aisle, needing distance, needing space to calm my thundering heart, before I turn to face him.

He’s leaning against the door. His expression is positively tortured.

“I was awful,” he says, before I can say anything. “I was mean. I was trying to hurt you, and I said all those things, and…” He inhales deeply. “I’m so sorry, Prudence. I didn’t mean them.”

I look away. The apology is so sudden, so fast on the heels of his song, that my emotions have tangled together. I’m nothing but a ball of feelings. I want this apology, I do, but it doesn’t feel earned. Not exactly. Not yet.

“Are you sure about that?” I ask.

“Prudence…”

“No, really. You can’t tell me you hadn’t thought those things about me, probably a thousand times before you actually said them. Critical, judgmental, selfish…”

He winces and his head falls. “I … yes, I used to … but I don’t…”

“The thing is, Quint.” I brace myself. “I’m not sure you said anything that wasn’t true.”

He shakes his head.

“Except the thief thing. I didn’t take that money. But … I did think about it.”

His gaze snaps back to me, surprised.

“Not for me or for my parents. I thought I would use it to buy Maya’s earring back for her. And honestly, I still don’t know whether that would have been the right thing to do or not.”

His brow furrows thoughtfully. “Well, the right thing probably would have been to talk to my mom about it. She would have helped get the earring back.”

I stare at him, momentarily dumbfounded. How does he do that? This ethical dilemma that had me tied in knots … how can he solve it so simply, so easily?

“Huh,” I say. “It probably should have been given to you.”

Quint frowns. “The money?”

“No. Never mind.” I squeeze my eyes shut. It doesn’t matter if the power of cosmic justice was given to me, and it doesn’t matter that I very well might have been the wrong person to wield it. I’m fairly certain it’s gone now. “I was just thinking that your moral compass might be a bit more finely tuned than mine.”

Quint waits for me to look at him again before responding, “That’s a weird thing to say.”

“I know.”

“But, thanks?”

“Look, my point is, those things you said about me before … I don’t want them to be true.” My voice squeaks, and I know I could start crying any minute. “I want to be someone who’s kind and forgiving. The sort of person who sees the good in other people, rather than … casting judgment all the time.” I smile sadly. “And when I’m around you, I become more like that person.”

I swipe at my eyes before any tears can fall. Take in a deep breath. Then wave my hand at Quint. “Okay. Now that I said all that … you can go back to telling me how sorry you are. I probably shouldn’t have interrupted.”

His expression starts to relax. “You do make it hard to give you compliments, you know that?”

I raise my eyes toward the ceiling. “So I’m difficult, too?”

“Yes,” he says, with so much feeling I can’t help but feel a little defensive. “Yes, Prudence. You are easily one of the most difficult people I’ve ever known.” He opens his palms, looking helpless. “And yet … I still really want to make out with you.”

I snort, then immediately cover my face with both hands. “Quint!”

He’s laughing at me when I dare to peek through my fingers. He hasn’t moved away from the door, almost like he’s guarding the exit in case I decide to make a run for it. But there’s nowhere I would rather be than right here, blushing and awkward and hopeful.

I slowly lower my hands. He’s still smiling, but it’s taken on a serious note.

“Honestly?” he says. “I like you, Prudence. I like you a lot. And I know I hurt you, and I am so sorry.”

I nod slowly. “I forgive you.”

He hesitates. “I don’t think it should be that easy.”

I gesture toward the lobby beyond the door. “You just serenaded me in front of all those people. How much harder would you like me to make it?”

He looks thoughtful, as if he’d almost forgotten about this tidbit. “You’re right. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And also, like, really romantic of me.”

I chuckle. “Besides, I’m sorry, too. For all those times I was so difficult.”

We stare at each other, the aisle spanning an entire ocean between us. I so badly want to take a step toward him, but my feet are glued to the red carpet, and he hasn’t made any move toward me, either. So we’re stuck. I feel like we’ve been stuck here, hopelessly divided, all year.

“You know what, Prudence?” he says. “If you’re going to apologize to me for something … it should be that lipstick.”

I start, and reach my fingers to my lips.

He shakes his head, forlorn. “I mean, come on. That’s just cruel.”

I bite down on my lower lip, and he groans quietly. I flush and can’t keep from smiling. “Morgan thinks it might be tested on animals, so…”

“I think it’s been tested on me plenty.”

My pulse dances.

“Quint?”

“Prudence?”

I take a step toward him, at the same moment he finally pushes away from the door.

We meet in the middle.

FORTY-EIGHT

Prudence: A

Quint: A

Overall: A+

Thoughtful presentation, concise writing, and a number of convincing arguments, all well-researched and well-executed. I’m impressed! I particularly enjoyed hearing how you’ve been working together to implement your ideas at the sea animal rescue center. You’ve proposed a truly ingenious plan for bringing ecotourism to our area in a way that benefits our community and our local wildlife and habitats. This report is a great example of what can be accomplished when two people overcome their differences and work together.

I’m exceptionally proud of you both. Nicely done.

“Satisfied?” asks Quint. We’re in our booth at Encanto, reading Mr. Chavez’s email on his phone.

I screw my lips to one side, considering. “How come we got an A+ overall, but I only got an A? What’s up with that?”

“Because,” he says, sliding an arm around my shoulders, “you’re pretty great on your own, but you’re even better with me.”

I grumble, even though … I can’t deny it.

He reaches over and closes the email. The screen switches to his home screen. The wallpaper beneath his apps is a picture of me—the photo he took on the beach during the Freedom Festival. When he showed it to me, he said it might be his favorite picture he’s ever taken. In part because the lighting was just so good that day, but mostly because my dimples are on full display.

I told him that would be really flattering if I wasn’t mostly competing with injured, malnourished pinnipeds.

“You two are making me uncomfortable,” says Jude, sandwiched between me and Ari. He has his sketchbook in his lap, trying to come up with a fearsome new creature to use in his D&D campaign. The only part of it he seems happy with is a pair of vicious-looking horns on the creature’s head. Everything else has already been erased and redrawn a hundred times.

I reach out and smack him on the shoulder. “Admit it. You think we’re super cute.”

Jude raises an eyebrow at me. “I think Ewoks are super cute. I think you two are a made-for-TV movie.”

“I think made-for-TV movies are super cute,” Ari points out.

“Got it!” yells Ezra, jamming his finger down on the songbook. “‘Too Sexy.’ That’s my song. All the way.”

“As in, ‘I’m Too Sexy’?” asks Morgan.

“No,” says Ezra. “As in, I’m too sexy.” He taps his chest. “Though you’re not half-bad.”

Morgan looks briefly disgusted, but then she gets a wicked look in her eye and leans toward him. “Do you know what’s really hot?”

He leans toward her.

“Maturity.”

A devious grin spreads over Ezra’s lips. “Oh my god, you are so right. For example, Quint’s mom is a total babe.”

Quint groans and hides his face behind one hand.

Ari casts me a look, but I can only shrug. I’m not entirely sure what to do with EZ, either, but he and Quint have been best friends since elementary school, so I think it’s a package deal.