He bites the inside of his cheek, looking from me to the wall and back to me again. He walks over to the third row and slides a glossy superhero book from the shelf. Ms. Marvel stares back at me from the cover.

“Explain your reasoning.” I love it, but I want to know why he picked it. If he even tries to pull the teen-girl card . . .

“Eisner and Hugo Award–winning writer, fantastic art, amazing plot, compelling main character. I don’t believe for a second it’s not already on your pull list, but if you want to keep messing with me, fine. That’s my first pick, and yes, I would recommend it to you even if you were a guy.”

“Your first pick?”

“Give me two seconds; we’re not done yet.” He walks around the comic shop, pulling various trades and single issues. I already own most of them, which should maybe not impress me, but it does. When he pulls my favorite comic, a super-obscure indie book you pretty much have to be deep into the scene to have even heard of, my heart beats a little faster. Did it just get hot in here, or . . . ?

He walks back with a little smile, tapping his finger on it. “This one is a little out-there, but give it a chance. It’s worth it.”

“I own it. I love it. I have a signed copy.” His face lights up as the smile turns into a full-on grin that stretches across his face, and oh my god, he has a dimple.

“Yeah? Not many people have even heard of it.”

“I told you my—”

“Pull list is bigger than mine. Yeah, yeah, got it. So? How’d I do?”

“Okay, I guess.” I laugh. “But now you have to put it all away before Vera gets back, and I need to finish organizing the books for tomorrow. I’d hurry if I were you; she hates when the store’s a mess.”

The little bell over the door jingles, and both our heads whip toward the entrance. Ridley darts to put the books away, and I swear he’s still grinning, but it’s hard to tell from the way he’s hunched over by the racks.

“Ridley! You’re just in time,” Vera says as she bustles by us with bags of takeout. “You like Chinese food, right?”

Tuesday-night Chinese in the back room is a weekly tradition. Vera barters with the owner of the Chinese restaurant next door. We keep him in comics, and he hooks us up with dinner every time my stepmom delivers them. Usually I’m rushing here from my lesson to get some before it’s gone, so I’m pumped to have first dibs tonight.

“I should go,” Ridley says, sliding the last comic back in its place.