“I wanted to say that if you really like Marvyn, well, he’d be a lucky guy.” I sigh. “And I have it under good authority he’s not that bad, and you, y’know, deserve the big high school romance as much as anyone else in that school?”

“I see.” She blinks. “Do I, Henri?”

There’s a smile dancing on her lips that feels off right now. As though it’s at me rather than with me.

“Er . . . Yes?”

“And are you sure you don’t want to run it past the village elders before giving me such blanket permission?”

“Okay, no! I didn’t mean it that w—”

Corinne starts up the stairs, now bopping her head vigorously.

“No, no, no. No takebacksies. I have the golden ticket now: permission from another dude! I mean, wow. I get to date? A real-life boy of my own choosing? I must tell Mother at once.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem that mad, chuckling between bursts of her soliloquy.

Okay, that wasn’t what I was trying to say. What was I trying to say? I stand there, chewing on the inside of my cheek to keep from trying to defend my statement and sink farther into the floor.

“So, um, I’ll see you tomorrow to walk Palm Tree, then?” I shout after her, fidgeting with my door keys.

Her head peeks back down over the stairwell, looking serious all over again. “Oooh! I just remembered.”

“What?”

“He touched my shoulder . . . while we were both in the water—and in our underclothing,” she says, hand on her chest. “God, I hope I’m pregnant. Fingers crossed, Haltiwanger!”

Her cackle echoes all the way up to her own doorstep, and I’m left to try to remember a time when I was actually good at talking to girls. What was it, third grade? I was awesome at it in the third grade.

Fourteen

“Halti!” Greg yells, snapping me back to the reality of him and Yadira both staring at me expectantly.

“Um . . . I’m sorry, what?”

“You only have ninety seconds for rebuttals,” he dramatically states, his voice echoing outside the empty classroom. “You’re welcome to start at any time now.”

I try to focus on the debate topic, but it’s almost impossible to concentrate today. I keep replaying Saturday night’s exchange with Corinne, trying to make sense of my reaction. She totally threw me off, and I had no idea what to say. Me. How is that possible? I’ve always got the right words.

But something about Corinne disarms me. And the most surprising thing is, I don’t mind it. I actually kind of like it.

I actually kind of like . . . her.

No, that’s crazy. I do not have feelings for Corinne Troy.

But then why am I still thinking about her?