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“Do you remember which band was playing that night?”

“I wish I did. It would make for a better story,” she said.

“Either way it’s a good story.”

“They were usually local bands who mostly played cover songs. They’d get together one summer and were broken up by the next. Moved on with their lives to things that actually paid money.”

“Sounds like some things never change,” I said.

“And so many other things do,” she said, her eyes still on the window.

“Was it a fun date?”

“It was loud and crowded and, yes, very fun. He bought me a hot dog and a lemonade, and we sang and laughed. That was the night he told me he was working on a painting for me.”

“Did you know it would be on a surfboard?”

“I had no idea. I asked him if I could see it, and he told me to have patience. Then a slow song came on and he looked at me and said,Do you know how to slow dance or do you need to stand on my feet?”

I smiled. “He didn’t give you the option to say no.”

“I didn’t want to say no.”

“So did you dance or stand on his feet?”

“A little of both,” she said with a smile. “I coiled my arms around his neck. He had long hair that came past his shoulders, and it was wavy and soft. I played with it as we swayed back and forth.After I’d rejected his last attempt at a kiss, I could tell he was waiting this time, even though we were close, staring into each other’s eyes. If I wanted a kiss, I was going to have to initiate.”

“Did you?”

“It was romantic, but I didn’t want my first kiss to be in the middle of a crowd. So no, we danced and held each other, sand pressing between our toes, the moon bright overhead, but we didn’tkiss.”

“Sounds like a lot of excuses, Grandma,” I teased. “When you were really just scared.”

“I was,” she admitted. “I liked him at this point, but I didn’t quite trust him. He was the type who could have any girl he wanted. Why me?”

“What did he say to change your mind?” I asked, hoping she had some insight because I completely understood where she was coming from. “To convince you.”

“He didn’t say anything. He just kept being him.”

“I LIKED YOUR LATEST EPISODE,”Jensen said. “Seems like everyone else did as well.”

We were outside, heading toward the cafeteria for some reason. Nolen had been intentionally vague when we got to class, saying we were going on a field trip of sorts. And now we were walking across campus. The seagulls sounded louder when the hallways were empty like they were now, and their squawks echoed aroundus. I was just about to jog ahead, ignore him, catch up with Ava, when Nolen turned around.

“You have a podcast?” He walked backward with the question. He had obviously overheard Jensen’s words.

“I do,” I said. “It’s about my grandma’s life.”

He slowed down until I’d caught up, then started walking beside me, on the opposite side as Jensen. “What was significant about her life?” It was a rude question, but I knew what he meant.

“Nothing,” I said. “And everything. She was just a normal person, but the way she tells her story makes it interesting.”

Jensen could’ve said that I helped her tell an interesting story, like Theo had, but instead he contradicted me and said, “She dated Andrew Lancaster.” As if that was the only thing that made her story worth telling.

“The painter?” Nolen asked. “That’s really cool.”

“I think it’s less about the fact that he was a famous painter and more about the fact that he was just a regular guy, falling in love.”

Jensen and Nolen shared a glance as if that wasn’t true at all.