So," he called to her back, "Just out of curiosity, you know, purely conversation and all, at what age will you be entertaining offers of marriage?"

"You think it'll be so easy?" she called back over her shoulder. "No way. There will be tasks. Like in a fairy tale."
"Sounds dangerous."
"Very, so think twice."

"No need," he said. "You're worth it.

It's not like there's a law against flying."

"Yes there is. The law of gravity.

Anyone who takes on my sister," he had postured once, all puffed-out bravado, "will have to deal with ...my sister." And then he'd dived behind her and cowered.

You mean he came to your school? The scandalous rodent-loaf!

You've got to have, like, a lentil for a soul to hate wiener dogs.

She craved a presence beside her, solid. Fingertips light at the nape of her neck and a voice meeting hers in the dark. Someone who would wait with an umbrella to walk her home in the rain, and smile like sunshine when he saw her coming. Who would dance with her on her balcony, keep his promises and know her secrets, and make a tiny world wherever he was, with just her and his arms and his whisper and her trust.