“Yeah.” I lean back against the wall, watching him with the simple, exquisite pleasure of knowing I don’t have to pretend I’m looking somewhere else. “If you can get it to close, I will be eternally grateful.”

He glances over at me, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Eternally grateful how?”

“I’ll …” I consider it for a beat. “I’ll buy you a sticker.”

“That’s your definition of eternal gratitude?”

“A really cute sticker, with little stars on it,” I specify. “I mean, you can’t expect me to offer you my life’s savings in exchange for zipping up a suitcase. Unless you have something else in mind.”

“I do,” he says immediately. “I want another one of your cloud doodles.”

I burst out laughing, but he doesn’t seem to be joking.

“Okay, fine, then,” I say, still laughing. “I promise you one wonky cloud doodle.”

Satisfied, he turns his attention back to the suitcase and pushes down from above with one hand while pulling the zipper with another. Miraculously, the zipper cooperates, and nothing explodes. Within seconds, he has the suitcase propped upright, and wheels it toward me.

And as I take it, I feel that shift deep inside my chest, like my heart has moved just to make more room for him. Xindong. Gazing up at him, his dark eyes and quiet smile, I’m not sure my heart will ever be still again.

Once all the suitcases have been wheeled out and our key cards deposited at the front desk, Wang Laoshi claps his hands to get our attention.

“I’ve spent most of last night reading your essays and tallying up the scores,” Wang Laoshi begins. “There were a few essays that were … surprisingly moving.” His eyes land on me, and I blink, hardly daring to believe that he’s talking about my essay. I can barely even remember what I wrote—something about a girl getting lost in a bamboo forest, a metaphor and memory combined. I worked on it after the fireworks show, my head light and my chest full, trying not to be distracted by Cyrus playing with my hair, and submitted it just two minutes before the deadline.

“I’m happy to say that we have a winner …” Wang Laoshi continues. “It was very close. Whether you’re first place or not, I’ve witnessed firsthand the progress you’ve made in your Chinese, and while there’s always room for improvement, you should all be rather proud of yourselves.” He pauses, blinks, his usually stern expression softening for just a moment. “Now, on to the results—drumroll, please.”

We all oblige, drumming our fingers on our suitcases, and then Oliver really gets into it and starts mimicking an entire orchestra all by himself, complete with trumpet and bass and what might be a teeny triangle, and Wang Laoshi hurries ahead to announce the results before the hotel staff can kick us out of the lobby.