Like I said, delusional. Because we don’t kiss. Of course we don’t kiss. In what universe would that happen? Instead, Rose hops up and holds a hand out to help me to my feet. “Anyway, in all seriousness, please feel free to visit during the school holidays to play her. It’ll give her something to live for.”

I close the piano lid and hurry to keep up with her. “Thanks.”

God, I really am totally delusional. What kind of ego do I have? I’m definitely not imagining this, says the girl projecting her bonkers fantasy onto a normal, innocent situation. Thank god thoughts are private, because I think I would straight-up die on the spot if Rose ever found out what was going through my head in there. She’d skip right past “light mocking” and howl with laughter.

As long as I make sure I keep both feet firmly planted in reality, I’ll be fine. The last thing I need is to make one of my brand-new friendships weird before I’ve even made it through a whole term.

Especially not a friendship I’m starting to really, really care about.

SIXTEEN ROSE

When I was younger, my aunt Belinda, the wife of my father’s brother, Albert, told me a fairy tale. It was the story of a handsome prince who met a beautiful maiden. She was everything he wanted in a wife; kind, and smart, and with the same sarcastic sense of humor he valued so much. Only, the maiden came covered in scars. They weren’t visible, but they were there all the same, betraying a history unbefitting a future queen. Aunt Belinda never told me the maiden’s exact crimes, but, she assured me, it was enough to make the king and queen despise her.

At first, the prince ignored his parents’ wishes, and courted the maiden, regardless. But every day, the king and queen grew angrier and angrier. Finally, the prince told his parents that love conquered everything, and he planned to make the maiden his wife. He was certain that once they got to know her, they would love her as he did.

The king and queen knew there was nothing they could say to change his mind. And so, they sent the maiden away on a ship to the land of her birth. She would never be allowed to return to the country. The handsome prince would have to find somebody else to marry.

“So, you understand, Rose,” Aunt Belinda said to me at the end of the story, “you must be mindful of who you give your heart to. Choose unwisely, and you risk both your heart and theirs.”

“My parents would never do that to me,” I said.

“Hmm,” she replied. “Your father thought the same thing, once. He learned, though.”

And that was when I understood that Aunt Belinda’s story was not a fairy tale at all.