“This is very intriguing,” Jules said. “I’m not being sarcastic, I am actually intrigued. But I need to take a shower before I ferment in my own sweat.”

I made a face. She curtsied, holding the edges of her running shorts, then skipped to her door.

“We’re going out tonight, though,” she muttered over her shoulder. “I’ll come get you so you don’t, like, take a nap and forget to meet me here for two freaking hours.”

She waved sweetly and disappeared into her house.

I was tempted to creep home in shame rather than venture out alone—but no. I was dressed as a runner. A runner I would be.

I maintained pace all the way to the boathouse this time. My chest felt like a giant had stomped on it, my legs were itchy, and my face felt like it had swollen, making me wonder if I was somehow allergic to exercise, but hey! Progress!

The cool-down was much better. Hypnotized by the light flickering off the pond’s surface, I felt my body buzzing. Damp hair curled against the back of my neck and the city’s sounds were muted, a song playing in another room.

As I walked, my mind kept snagging on Oscar. His fingers, his warmth, his I like you, his music, those freeze-frame moments last night when something delicious and dangerous was about to happen.

I glanced up and I was at the Alice in Wonderland statue, all the way across the park. I’d climbed it some blurry long-time-ago, a woman hovering on one of the toadstools, arms outstretched in case I fell—but had it been Mom or my nanny, Rosie? As much as my mind strained, I couldn’t picture her face.

As I walked home, a text came in from Alice. Where’s Dad??

I stopped to type. Amberley meeting with Oscar. Everything okay?

Just weirded out he wasn’t picking up his cell

Everything from Uber to pigeons weirded Alice out. So.

Anything I can help with?

Alice wrote back: Nope! :)

I appreciated the extra effort of the smiley face, even if I did wonder what was up with her most of the way home.

The Ultra-Super-Duper Awesome Composer Duo came back later than expected. As I walked downstairs, dressed to go out, I could hear their voices filling the house, the force field of their excitement simultaneously drawing me in and repelling me clear across the Hudson. Oscar and Dad, in Oscar and Dad’s world.

“So, what do you think?” Oscar danced onto the balls of his feet. “In-house? Workshop performance, or . . . ?”

“The performance!” Dad stood behind Oscar, shaking his shoulders. “Whatever you need, the school will provide. They’re getting plenty from this too, so never feel bad for asking.”

Oscar’s eyes clouded. Then he spotted me, blue skies restored. “They liked it!”

“What did you play?” I leaned on the table. “Those fifty bars, or . . . ?”