“Yeah.”

He nods and I sense he might be about to wander off and get back to his duties. “What about those idiots protesting outside, though?” I add quickly.

“That’s just it, they’re idiots.” He shrugs. “They think the zoo has engineered all this for publicity, but it’s not true.”

I glance at the groups of visitors surrounding the enclosure, still filming and taking endless photos. “Everyone’s talking about it, though.”

“It’s a love story, isn’t it? With a happy ending. Everyone likes one of them.” He smiles at me. “I’m not mad about the science project, by the way.”

“Huh. OK.”

He chuckles and looks back at Kippie and Jingles, and I watch him, watching them, and hope he’s planning on sticking around a bit because there’s something about him that makes me want to stay close to him. I wish I had more to say, but I can’t think of a thing, so I finally manage, “I like your overalls.”

“Looking forward to Prom?” he says, at exactly the same time.

Now we’ve spoken over each other, we do that thing where it’s unclear whose turn it is to speak next, so we both speak at the same time again:

“Er … thanks,” he says.

“Yes, I am,” I reply.

I swallow, kick my trainers about in the dirt, then try to look busy staring at the penguins, anything to distract my brain from activating my mouth.

“You got a date?” he asks, softly.

“Um, yeah, well, I’m going with Molly, so…” I nod and glance quickly at him. She is, technically, my date. Just not a romantic one. She didn’t have anyone to go with, nor did I, so it kind of made sense. But that’s a lot of things to explain to Aaron.

He nods. “Nice.”

“You?” I say.

He shakes his head. “I’m gonna be rocking the singleton vibe.”

Happiness floods my body so much, I have to stifle a giggle. I think it’s pure relief that, at a time when everyone seems to be hooking up, someone else is still single. “Oh, well … that’s good. I mean, it’s fine. Of course it’s fine, there’s no rule that says you have to have a date, or…” I don’t know why I’m babbling, but I can’t stop myself. “Maybe you’ll pull at the prom!”

I laugh, way too hard for way too long, and he frowns at me.

“Maybe we should get back to Luis and Femi,” I suggest, the heat surging through my cheeks.

He takes a deep breath. “Come on, then.”

We get back to the main enclosure just as Luis is reaching the climax of his poem.

“The Portuguese for ‘love’ is ‘amor’,

And even though I may be poor,

I hope our love will soar and soar.”

He looks expectantly at Femi, who just stares at him in what’s either disbelief or horror. Either way, it doesn’t look positive. And then she just says, “What do you mean, ‘poor’? Your dad’s a plumber, they earn a mint.”