And maybe her eyes weren’t spectacularly brown—maybe they only had a tiny bit of color—but they were bright and big and, well, perhaps they hadn’t always worked perfectly, but Father had made sure Alice got her vision fixed, and anyway, she was extremely good at pretending she didn’t give a cat’s bottom what anyone thought of her.

Things would be just fine.

In fact, things had just started being fine again—she was practicing her dance for the hundredth time when—wouldn’t you know it—Oliver Newbanks decided to ruin everything for the third time in two days.

Alice really wished she had her shovel.

“Your mother told me I might find you here,” was the first thing he said to her.

Alice counted beats in her head, her feet falling and hips swaying and arms rising and skirts spinning in all the right places. Her bangles moved in perfect harmony with her steps; she felt like she was a part of it all—a part of the world itself.

Music gave her access to the earth.

Her feet had grown roots, planting her into the ground with each footfall. She could feel the reverberations rising through her, beyond her. She never wanted to stop. She never wanted to forget this feeling.

“Alice, I’m sorry,” he said.

She kept spinning.

“I’m so sorry. Please, give me a chance to explain—”

Alice stopped. Her skirts swung all about her, momentum whipping them against her legs. She was out of breath and out of patience and she did not care for this conversation, not one whit.

She stepped right up to Oliver Newbanks and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. Yanked him down to meet her eye to eye. (He was so unaccountably tall; it was only fair.)

“What do you want?” she demanded.

Oliver was startled but he hid it well. She could hear his heart again and she was immediately thrown by the beauty of it. The songs of his soul; the harmony within him: It was incredible. She’d heard this symphony when she first ran into his chest, too distracted then to understand what it might mean.

She dropped his shirt and her jaw and took a few steps back. She didn’t want to get near him again.

“Please,” he said, holding his hands together in supplication. “That was so long ago, Alice. I was a stupid kid. I didn’t mean it.”

Alice stared at him for what felt like an abominably long time.

Then, “Okay.”

And she turned and left.

She was halfway down the meadow when he caught up to her, breathing hard. “What do you mean, ‘okay’?” he asked.

Alice rolled her eyes but he couldn’t see.

“Does that mean we can be friends?”

“Definitely not,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because I will never be able to trust you.”

“Aw, c’mon, Alice—I didn’t mean it—”

Alice turned on him. Narrowed her eyes. “You don’t think I’m the ugliest girl in Ferenwood?”

“No! Of course n—”

“Then why did you say it?”

He had no answer.

“You’re a cruel, silly boy,” she said, walking again. “And I do not like you. So go away, and please stop talking to me.”

There. Now he would leave.

“I can’t.”

Alice stopped. “What?”

“I can’t,” he said again, this time with a sigh. He looked into his hands, looked away.

So this was what Mother was smiling about. This was it. She thought it was funny. She probably thought this was hilarious.

“Alice,” Oliver whispered.

“Don’t say it.”

“Alice—”

She covered her ears and hummed.

“Alice!” Oliver pulled her arms down, gripped her hands. “Alice, I’ve been tasked . . . to you.”

“Oh, Oliver.” She looked up at the sky. She wanted to kick him very hard. “You terrible liar.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“Good grief.” She kept walking.

Oliver was stunned. He blinked a few times. “But, Alice—”

“You were tasked to me? When? A year ago? And it’s taken you this long to gather the gooseberries to tell me?”

“I—I was nervous,” he stammered. “I didn’t expect it. I took the year to think about it—to understand—”

“You are as much in love with me as I am in love with this tree stump over here,” Alice said, pointing to the tree stump. “Now, I’ll be on my way, thank you very much. It was awful talking to you.”

“But—”

“Go away, Oliver.” She kept walking.

“Fine,” he said, catching up to her. He was frustrated now. Frustrated and impatient. “Fine—I’m sorry.” He clenched his jaw. Fixed a look at her. “I lied, okay? I lied.”

She stared back. “What do you want from me?”

He shook his head, confused. “How did you know? No one can ever tell when I’m lying—it’s the only thing I’m any good at—”

“What do you want?” she said again.

“Alice.” He stepped in front of her. “I need your help.”

Alice took a flower out of her pocket. Bit off the top. “Of course you do,” she said, mouth full of petals. She shook her head. “Typical.”

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