I laughed softly. “You? Talk?”

I felt warm all over at the sight of his grin. “I talk. I just did, didn’t I?”

“I suppose. But you’re really more of a listener.”

“Whatever.” He shook his head at me, still grinning.

Wanting to keep him smiling, I attempted some easier conversation. “Well, you said talk, so I’m going to make you talk more.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded, turning to the side and stretching my arm out along the back of the bench. Marco shifted slightly, turning his body in toward mine. “Let me see… okay. What’s your favorite song?”

“‘Dirt Off Your Shoulder’ – Jay Z.”

I burst out laughing and his smile widened. “You’re lying.”

He shrugged.

“Seriously? Favorite song?”

Marco sighed, rubbing his hand over his head. He seemed almost self-conscious as he replied, “‘Hurt’ by Nine Inch Nails.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” But I’d definitely be YouTube-ing it when I got home.

“It’s good. Real, you know.” He shifted again so he was sitting to the side, facing me. “Nonna’s neighbor died and her son inherited the house. He was a big Nine Inch Nails fan. He’d blast that music, pissing off Nonno and half the neighborhood. Nonno sent me over one afternoon when I was twelve to tell the guy to shut it off. But when I got there ‘Hurt’ was playing. I’d never really paid that much attention to lyrics until that moment. Didn’t get how they could be like a letter someone wrote to you… to let you know you weren’t alone.”

For some reason this brought tears to my eyes. I’d never wanted to protect someone the way I wanted to protect him. I thought if he saw, he would resent it. But sitting there with him, looking into his eyes as he looked into mine, I knew Marco could discern how I felt about him. And for once he didn’t walk away. Instead, his expression softened, his eyes warmed, and he asked, “What’s your favorite song?”

I beat back the wetness in my eyes and smiled. “I grew up listening to Bob Dylan. My mum’s a huge fan. Have you listened to him?”

Marco shook his head. “Not really.”

“‘Blowin’ in the Wind.’ That’s my favorite song. It’s kind of a sad song, but it doesn’t remind me of sad times. It reminds me of day trips to the Highlands with the whole family, or lazing around on a Saturday afternoon, just Mum and me. I suppose sometimes it’s the memories associated with the song rather than the song itself that makes it a favorite.”

“That sounds cool. I’m glad you have a cool family, Hannah. You deserve that.”

I frowned at the seeming insinuation behind his words. “So do you, Marco.”

When he didn’t reply, I pushed the frustration over not being able to help him with his family life aside, and asked, “Favorite movie?”

I saw his cheek lift into a smile again and I relaxed. “Training Day.”

“I haven’t seen it.”

“We’ll fix that oversight. What about you?”

“My favorite movie? Or my real favorite movie?”

He chuckled. “Both.”

“The movie I tell everyone is my favorite is Dead Poets Society. It’s a great movie, but it’s really my mum’s favorite movie.”

“And yours?”

I felt my cheeks heat a little. “Okay, you can’t tell anyone.”

He laughed. “How bad is this?”

“It’s Finding Nemo.”

Marco grinned. “It’s not that bad.”

“Out of all the movies of all time, I choose Finding Nemo. An animation,” I reminded him.

He shrugged. “I chose Training Day. It’s not what everyone else holds up as a great movie – your favorite movie is one you enjoy a lot. A movie you can watch over and over again because for whatever reason you get something out of it.”

“You’re right. You’re completely right. From now on I’m owning up to Finding Nemo.”

“Oh, I never said that,” he teased. “Keep that shit to yourself until you’re out of high school.”

“Hey!” I punched him playfully on the arm and he burst out laughing. Watching him, knowing I’d lifted his mood, made me feel like someone had wrapped us up in a warm cocoon. The connection between us had strengthened. “Next question. Favorite book?”

Marco grimaced comically. “Like I read.”

“You’ve at least read something, right?”

He laughed and deflected the question. “What’s your favorite book?”

“To Kill a Mockingbird.”

Something I didn’t understand glittered in the back of his eyes. “Nice choice.”

“Aha, you’ve read it!”

Marco smiled and shrugged.

“I don’t know if shrugging constitutes an answer where you come from, Chicago Boy, but here it doesn’t qualify.”

“Them be a whole lot of big words, smart girl. Ma small brain ain’t be knowing what yer talkin’ about.”

I burst out into surprised laughter. Marco was often sarcastic and he enjoyed the ironic, but this side of him, this joking side of him, was rare to see. “Stop avoiding the question.”

I waited for him to stop grinning. As the smile slipped from his face, there was something new and intense in his expression. Our eyes held and the air thickened between us. “To Kill a Mockingbird,” he told me softly.

His confession seared me to my very soul. It might not seem like something to anyone else that we shared the same favorite book but right then, in the growing dark, it felt like everything.

“If you could go on the perfect date, where would it be?” What I really wanted to ask was who it would be with.

I knew the question would cause him some unease, but I think that’s what I was pushing for. Pushing for answers about what was between us.

His brows drew together as he looked down at me. “I told you I don’t date,” he replied quietly.

The answer was unsurprising, but still I felt a pang of disappointment.

“You?” Marco did surprise me by asking.

I gave him a small smile. Perfect date. With him. Where? “It sounds really cheesy, but I remember reading this teen romance Ellie gave me and it was about this girl who meets a real-life prince and it’s completely fantastical and utterly stupid really.” I laughed nervously. “There’s so many obstacles between them, but there’s this scene where he takes her to this tiny cottage on his land, away from everything and everyone. They sit in front of a roaring fire, drinking and eating, sometimes talking, sometimes not. It was like there was no one else in the world but them and I don’t know…” I trailed off, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

The heavy silence fell between us again.

“Why did you really ask me to meet you tonight, Marco?” I whispered, breaking it.

For once he didn’t avoid the question. “Because,” he whispered back, “when I’m with you it feels like everything’s going to be okay. I can’t explain it.”

My pulse throbbed at his overwhelming confession and somehow my voice came out steady and soft. “You don’t have to.”

“That film was so rubbish,” Sadie complained as we walked out of the theater and into the lobby of the cinema. “Such a boy movie.”

“You were the one that voted with the guys on what film to go see,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, because I want them to like me,” she said in a “duh” voice, as though it should be obvious to me to change who I was in order to suit a boy. Ugh. Please.

If this was what being popular was all about, you could stick it.

Fifth year at high school was turning out a lot different than my last few years. My old friends had become scarce as I’d opened up and grown more confident, and my new friends were outgoing – they participated in a lot of extracurricular activities at school, but mostly they were utterly, completely, and totally boy crazy.