“So don’t. He doesn’t actually make people do that, right? You can say no.”

She started those wide loops with the bike again. Changed the subject, and I wasn’t bothered at all. “Look, I apologize on behalf of my ex-boyfriend for making tonight a mess. Doesn’t seem like we’re going to get much planning done.”

Not that I minded. “I take it there will be no Kee-Lossus reconciliation then.”

“Ugh! I hated that stupid nickname.”

“I couldn’t tell.”

She looped my bike around me. “You got jokes?”

“Alls I’m saying is, if you had a wedding gown on layaway, it wouldn’t shock me.”

Kiera smacked my shoulder hard enough to alter her balance. The bike wobbled and she had to plant a foot to keep from dumping it completely.

“Here.” I seized the moment, and grabbed the handlebars. “Let me hop on.”

She made as if to climb off. I said, “Naw, stay on. Give me some room.”

“Wait, what?”

I got the bike upright with her still on the seat. “Grab my waist and hang on.”

“This seems dangerous.”

“Only if you don’t know what you’re doing.” I didn’t totally know what I was doing. I hadn’t ridden a bike double like this since I was ten. “There are pegs on the back tire. Rest your feet on those, and let me do the work.”

“Del, I don’t know about this.”

Hush puppies, I thought. Take control.

I pushed off, had a millisecond of panic where I thought I’d send both of us skidding across the pavement, erasing skin from arms, elbows, and knees. But it really was true what they said about never forgetting how to ride a bike—even double. After three healthy pedal pumps, we were cruising.

We came to a slight hill, went over, picked up speed. Kiera’s arms squeezed my waist hard enough to hurt. I welcomed that pain. Had been waiting for it so long. She squealed in my ear.

“What’s your favorite place in Green Creek?” I asked.

No hesitation whatsoever. “The library.”

That was less than a mile away. An easy ride. A few minutes later, we came upon the glowing glass atrium of the GCPL. Squeezing the handbrake, I brought us to a smooth and safe stop by the bike rack. Once I got the bike mounted and locked, I checked the time on my phone. “We’ve only got a half hour before they close.”

Kiera seemed giddy under the sodium lights’ glare. “Then we better hurry up.”

Door chimes announced our entrance, and a bored-looking librarian with copious tattoos informed us of what we already knew. “We’re closing soon.”

We kept it moving, me following her lead now. She walked directly to the modest teen section, where signs done in colorful graffiti font identified which chunk of the alphabet each shelf held. A–G. H–P. Q–Z.

Kiera took us to roughly the last section, of the last shelf, where she skimmed the Ws. She perked up. “Oh! They got it.”

When she pried a volume free, I saw the “it” was a novel by Jacqueline Woodson, glossy in its newness. Kiera flipped the cover open, skimming the writing on the jacket, then brought the open book to her face like she was going to lick it. She inhaled deeply; eyed me like she’d gotten hold of a strong drug. “New book smell is the best smell.” She blinked. Put the book back. “You think I’m weird now.”