Click.

And then . . . the most wondrous thing appears. The lid pops back, and a miniature, luminous universe rises up and unfolds. A small round moon glows in the center, surrounded by tiny twinkling stars. I gasp. It’s intricate and alive. Cricket places the automaton back into my palm. I cradle it, enchanted, and the stars wink at me lazily.

“The moon is what took so long. I had trouble getting the cycle correct.”

I look up, mystified. “The cycle?”

He points to the real moon. She’s a waxing gibbous—a slice of her left side is dark. I look back down. The little moon is almost entirely illuminated. A slice of its left side is dark. I’m stunned into silence.

“So you won’t forget me when I’m gone,” he says.

I raise my eyes in alarm.

Cricket reacts quickly. “Not gone-gone. I meant during the week, when I’m at school. No more moving. I’m here. I’m wherever you are.”

I let out a relieved breath, one hand clutching my tight stays.

“You haven’t said anything.” He plucks at a rubber band. “Do you like it?”

“Cricket . . . this is the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen.”

His expression melts. He enfolds me into his arms, and I rise on my platform tiptoes to reach his lips again. I want to kiss him for the rest of the night, for the rest of our lives. The one. He tastes salty like sea fog. But he tastes sweet, too, like . . .

“Cherries,” he says.

Yes. Wait. Was I talking out loud?

“You taste like cherries. Your hair smells like cherries. You’ve always smelled like cherries to me.” Cricket presses his nose against the top of my head and inhales. “I can’t believe I’m allowed to do that now. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

I bury my face against his chest and smile. Someday I’ll tell him about my teacup.

The sound of laughter and music floats through the night air, swirling and ephemeral. It’s beckoning us. I look up and deep into his eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this? A high school dance? You don’t think it’s . . . kind of lame?”

“Sure, but aren’t they supposed to be?” Cricket smiles. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to one. And I’m happy. I’m really hap—”

And I interrupt his words with another ecstatic kiss. “Thank you.”

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“I am.”

“Are you scared?”

“I’m not.”

He takes my hand and squeezes it. With my other, I hitch up the bottom of my dress. My platform combat boots lead the way. And I hold my head high toward my big entrance, hand in hand with the boy who gave me the moon and the stars.