My cheeks flush like little ovens. Thea says that I should come right out and declare my love for Milo, not because she’s a dreamy-eyed romantic but because she’s the most practical person on the planet who thinks that I’ve already wasted five years pining after Milo in silence. But there’s no way I’m taking her advice. What does she want me to do? Run up to him and shout, “Surprise, I love you!” into his face? I might as well tattoo his name on my left butt cheek and moon him while I’m at it.

Thea might not approve of my methods, but I want to work up to my big reveal, which is why I’ve come up with a step-by-step plan to woo Milo with my charms. I’m not going to tell him how I feel—I’m going to show him instead, starting with the museum today. After the concert I’ll ask him to our sophomore spring fling, and I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes since he doesn’t have a date yet. I already have a dress in mind, too—with a cinched waist that flares out into a tulle skirt—and during the last slow song I’m going to lock my arms around his neck and pull him in close enough that it’ll make him think that his old pal Juliet is looking rather cute and, hey, maybe she could be something more than just a friend.

“Jules?”

My eyes jerk upward. “Oh! You’re here!” I squeak to Milo. I didn’t notice him come in, and now he’s standing in front of me, all six feet and two inches of him, and I’m scrambling to turn off my phone before he sees Thea’s text about how I should kiss him.

“Didn’t want to be late. This was an awesome idea of yours, by the way,” he says, blinking up at the enormous Alexander Calder mobile that hangs from the museum ceiling before glancing at me again. “Everything okay? You seem a little jumpy.”

I don’t know if “jumpy” is the right word. More like absolutely mortified. My stupid phone screen has frozen on Thea’s text, lit up for the entire capital to read. I shove it in my purse, where I restart it. “Too much coffee this morning,” I blurt out before I notice he looks different from when I saw him at school yesterday. “Did you cut your hair?”

He glances at the floor, rocking back and forth in his sneakers. “My mom made me do it last night. It’s too short, huh?” His hair had been getting long enough for the ends to curl and cover his eyes, which forced him to do this little head flick in orchestra so that he could read his sheet music. It was adorable then, and it’s still adorable now, albeit an inch shorter.