“No offense, but I think everyone already knows everything there is to know about the O’Connor ubermage.”

“So, my reputation precedes me.” He does the hair flick thing again like maybe it’s a nervous tick and not just an attempt to look cool. “But there’s a lot more to me than that.”

“Yeah, like what?” I’m genuinely curious.

“Like, back in Ireland, I was in a band. We did some gigs in the summer, started to get some decent attention, and then I had to move.” A shadow flits briefly over his face.

“Let me guess: you play drums?”

“And I sing, backup mostly. You should listen to our stuff, but only if you like good music.”

“I like bands that can play their instruments.”

“Shots fired.” He makes a popping sound with his fingers. “You know Nirvana?”

“Duh.”

“Like them?”

“Their MTV Unplugged show is the greatest live recording by any band ever,” I say, surprised by my own vehemence. Guess I have Dad to thank for my taste in music. He used to jump up and down to rock music when we were little kids and taught me how to headbang. My memories are hazy, but I’m sure Mom joined in too sometimes.

Morgan’s smile broadens. “What about Jimmy Eat World, or Green Day, or Blink, or hey, you know any of the prehistoric bands like The Exploited or Sex Pistols?”

“Know of them sure, can’t really say I’m a fan. The others I like, though.” And I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I mumble-sing the chorus from “All the Small Things.”

Morgan starts playing the drums with his fingers on the table.

“Seriously, though,” he says when I stumble to a stop over half-remembered words. “You should give us a listen. I think you’ll like our sound. And if you do, write about us.” He shrugs, but I can tell it means a lot to him.

“What’s the band’s name?”

“The Knock-Knock Jokes.”

“For real?”

“Don’t diss it till you’ve listened, deal?” He offers me his hand.

“Deal.” We shake. Would he act this way with someone more typically “girlie”?

He jumps up, book in hand, then rolls toward the stacks. He crams the book onto the wrong shelf and I’m about to say as much when he kicks off again, disappearing between shelves featuring Ayurvedic recipe books and medieval hymnals.

“What are you doing?”

“Exploring,” he calls over his shoulder.

I follow the racket of the skateboard.

“Hey, keep this up and MacCrone’ll be back. Then haul us off to the principal,” I warn as Morgan attempts some kind of flip-trick. The board lands wheels upturned, making me wince.

“Didn’t think lizards like hers were legal as pets,” he says.