Instant Karma - Marissa Meyer Page 0,168

swipe at my eyes before any tears can fall. Take in a deep breath. Then wave my hand at Quint. “Okay. Now that I said all that … you can go back to telling me how sorry you are. I probably shouldn’t have interrupted.”

His expression starts to relax. “You do make it hard to give you compliments, you know that?”

I raise my eyes toward the ceiling. “So I’m difficult, too?”

“Yes,” he says, with so much feeling I can’t help but feel a little defensive. “Yes, Prudence. You are easily one of the most difficult people I’ve ever known.” He opens his palms, looking helpless. “And yet … I still really want to make out with you.”

I snort, then immediately cover my face with both hands. “Quint!”

He’s laughing at me when I dare to peek through my fingers. He hasn’t moved away from the door, almost like he’s guarding the exit in case I decide to make a run for it. But there’s nowhere I would rather be than right here, blushing and awkward and hopeful.

I slowly lower my hands. He’s still smiling, but it’s taken on a serious note.

“Honestly?” he says. “I like you, Prudence. I like you a lot. And I know I hurt you, and I am so sorry.”

I nod slowly. “I forgive you.”

He hesitates. “I don’t think it should be that easy.”

I gesture toward the lobby beyond the door. “You just serenaded me in front of all those people. How much harder would you like me to make it?”

He looks thoughtful, as if he’d almost forgotten about this tidbit. “You’re right. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And also, like, really romantic of me.”

I chuckle. “Besides, I’m sorry, too. For all those times I was so difficult.”

We stare at each other, the aisle spanning an entire ocean between us. I so badly want to take a step toward him, but my feet are glued to the red carpet, and he hasn’t made any move toward me, either. So we’re stuck. I feel like we’ve been stuck here, hopelessly divided, all year.

“You know what, Prudence?” he says. “If you’re going to apologize to me for something … it should be that lipstick.”

I start, and reach my fingers to my lips.

He shakes his head, forlorn. “I mean, come on. That’s just cruel.”

I bite down on my lower lip, and he groans quietly. I flush and can’t keep from smiling. “Morgan thinks it might be tested on animals, so…”

“I think it’s been tested on me plenty.”

My pulse dances.

“Quint?”

“Prudence?”

I take a step toward him, at the same moment he finally pushes away from the door.

We meet in the middle.

FORTY-EIGHT

Prudence: A

Quint: A

Overall: A+

Thoughtful presentation, concise writing, and a number of convincing arguments, all well-researched and well-executed. I’m impressed! I particularly enjoyed hearing how you’ve been working together to implement your ideas at the sea animal rescue center. You’ve proposed a truly ingenious plan for bringing ecotourism to our area in a way that benefits our community and our local wildlife and habitats. This report is a great example of what can be accomplished when two people overcome their differences and work together.

I’m exceptionally proud of you both. Nicely done.

“Satisfied?” asks Quint. We’re in our booth at Encanto, reading Mr. Chavez’s email on his phone.

I screw my lips to one side, considering. “How come we got an A+ overall, but I only got an A? What’s up with that?”

“Because,” he says, sliding an arm around my shoulders, “you’re pretty great on your own, but you’re even better with me.”

I grumble, even though … I can’t deny it.

He reaches over and closes the email. The screen switches to his home screen. The wallpaper beneath his apps is a picture of me—the photo he took on the beach during the Freedom Festival. When he showed it to me, he said it might be his favorite picture he’s ever taken. In part because the lighting was just so good that day, but mostly because my dimples are on full display.

I told him that would be really flattering if I wasn’t mostly competing with injured, malnourished pinnipeds.

“You two are making me uncomfortable,” says Jude, sandwiched between me and Ari. He has his sketchbook in his lap, trying to come up with a fearsome new creature to use in his D&D campaign. The only part of it he seems happy with is a pair of vicious-looking horns on the creature’s head. Everything else has already been erased and redrawn a hundred times.

I reach out and smack

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