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“The second-to-last day of school.”

“Second-to-last day of school?” I say, baffled, trying to remember what, if anything, was so special about the second-to-last day of school. But then I shake my head. “No, no. I know you’re lying, because thelastday of school is when we got our grades from Mr. Chavez, and you implied that only a masochist would willingly work on that biology project with me over the summer.”

“Oh yeah. I’m not saying it was the first time I realized Ilikedyou. I was still thoroughly convinced that you were a terrible person. I’m just saying, the second-to-last day of school is when you became a terrible person that I sort of wanted to make out with.”

I blanch. “Quint!” I say, hiding my face behind my hands. “Honestly!”

He shrugs. “You asked.”

I stutter a laugh, even as heat burns across my cheeks. We’re sitting on the pile of blankets. The power is still out, though the storm has dulled to a steady drizzle. Quint’s arm is draped around my shoulders, as comfortably as if we did this all the time.

I don’t know how many hours we’ve been sitting here. We’ve gone past that period of late-night delirium when everything becomes hysterically funny, through the point when everything seems impossibly profound, and now we’re both sleepy and yawning and refusing to close our eyes. I never want this night to end.

“So what was it? My extremely detailed miniature model of Main Street, or…”

“Karaoke, obviously.”

I gasp. “Oh! That was karaoke night, wasn’t it? When I…” I touch the back of my head, remembering my fall. Then I look at him, dubious. “You have a thing for girls with concussions?”

“I honestly don’t know what I have a thing for.” His fingers mindlessly trace circles around my upper arm. “But there was just something… I don’t know. At one point you did that little shoulder-shimmy thing…” He wiggles his shoulders in imitation. “Plus, that lipstick of yours…” He brings his free hand to my face, pressing his thumb lightly against my lips, even though there’s no way I have any lipstick left after this night. I shiver. “I usually don’t get the whole makeup thing, but that lipstick. I’ve had dreams in that exact shade of red lately.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Is that weird?” His eyes crinkle in the corners, and I want to tell him that every word out of his mouth for the past I-don’t-know-how-many-hours has been weird.

“It might be a little weird,” I say. “But I’m not complaining.”

He grins and his eyes dip to my mouth. I’m coming to recognize this look, right before he kisses me. His hand moves to cup the side of my face. He leans down and I tilt my head up to meet him. My lips are swollen. Twenty-four hours ago I’d never been kissed. Now I’ve been kissed into oblivion.

“Your turn,” says Quint, pulling away and settling his forehead against mine. “When did you first want to kiss me?”

I close my eyes and try to remember. Right now it’s hard to imagine a time when Ididn’twant to kiss him.

“Snorkeling.”

“Yes!” Quint pumps his elbow. “I knew you were totally into me that day. I could sense it.” He snaps his fingers. “Was that also the day that I helped rescue that sea otter? It was, wasn’t it? Man, that was a good day for me.” He sighs wistfully, as if he’s an old man feeling nostalgic for his youthful prime, rather than something that just happened a few weeks ago. “It was kind of magical watching you snorkel for the first time. I don’t think I’d ever seen you that happy before.”

I consider this. “I wasn’t happy so much as amazed.”

“No, you were happy. I can tell, you know.”

“Oh? How?”

“I could see your dimples.” His eyes glint, almost teasingly, though he’s trying to keep his expression stoic and wise. “They don’t show up as much when you have one of your snarky smiles on.”

My heart thumps, and I can’t help but grin. Flustered, but happy.

“See?” he says, knocking his shoulder against mine. “Like that.”

I bump him back. Then my eyes catch on the windows and I blink. “Hey, Quint. Do you see what I’m seeing?”

He turns his head and it takes him a minute to realize what I’m talking about.Daylight.Just a faint hint of it illuminating the windows. Not sunshine, but the promise of sunshine. A dim greenish-gray light cutting through the drizzle.

“What time is it?” He grabs for his phone reflexively, before remembering that our batteries both died eons ago.

I glance at my watch. “Almost six.” We look at each other, realizing that we’ve been awake all night. Not only that, but the storm seems to have passed.

We’re free to go.