Sophie almost hugged him. Instead, she nodded, trying to look bored, and ran to her room to call Clara. The night of La Boum , the world felt different. The streetlights seemed softer. The air smelled of autumn leaves and possibility. Sophie wore a red dress—the one her grandmother had sent from Lyon, saying, “For when you feel brave.” Clara had done her eyeliner in two perfect wings.
The silence that followed was a living thing. Finally, her father said, “We’ll drive you. We’ll pick you up at midnight. No later.”
At some point, Clara caught her eye from across the room and gave her a huge, knowing thumbs-up.
Sophie leaned her head against the cool window. Outside, Adrien stood on his porch, waving.
“Adrien?” her mother asked.