“Actually, ma’am,” Quince says, ducking his head as his cheeks turn an adorably dusky shade of pink, “that was my gift to Lily.”

“Oh,” she says, her eyes wide. “Oh, my.”

Feeling left out—and completely outshined by Quince’s gift—I reach over and slip my hand beneath his sand-dollar pendant. “This was my gift.”

Calliope walks closer and leans in to inspect. “It’s beautiful, my dear.” She smiles up at me. “Just beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Quince agrees. “It is.”

Calliope steps back and studies us for a moment. I have a bad feeling about the suspicious look in her eyes. But then she just smiles and says, “Time for my test. Let’s move to the western shore so we can watch the sun set.”

A minute later, she’s arranged us on the sand, Quince and me sitting cross-legged and facing each other, with Calliope to one side between us.

“Let me first explain the rules of my test.” She pulls a clipboard out of the satchel she’s brought with her, flips to a specific page, and then reads aloud. “During the execution of the I Say, You Say test, participants must remain facing each other, they must maintain eye contact while making each proclamation, and they must continue until the Challenge administrator deems the test complete.” She lifts her eyes from the page long enough to ask, “Understood?”

We both nod, although I’m sure Quince is as clueless as I am.

“Excellent.” She sets down the clipboard. “Now here is what we’re going to do. First, I would like each of you to say three positive things about the other. It may be a compliment or an encouragement or just something you like or admire.”

Panic tightens around my throat. I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m afraid I won’t have any nice things to say about Quince. But a tiny part of me says it’s because I’m worried he won’t have any nice things to say about me.

I’ve always been pretty awful to him.

“Now, let’s see.” Calliope studies us once again. “Who should go first?”

Not me, not me, not me, not—

“Lily,” Calliope finally declares. “Why don’t you start us off? Say something positive about Quince.”

“I, uh…” Words won’t come. My brain freezes. My eyes lock on Quince’s, and I block out the anticipation I sense he’s feeling. I hate being put on the spot, even if it’s only two pairs of eyes waiting for my next move. Finally, out of desperation, I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “He has pretty eyes.”

Those pretty eyes crinkle at the corners, and I heave a sigh of relief. If he’s smiling, then I must have said something right.

“Very good, Lily,” Calliope says, “but I’d like you to use his name when you make your statement. Don’t anonymize him with a generic pronoun.”

That sounds a little like psychological hooey, but when I look back at him and say, “Quince has pretty eyes,” I feel it in my gut.

Calliope’s psychological hooey has some teeth.

“Wonderful,” she says. Then, to Quince, “Your turn.”

Quince doesn’t hesitate for a second. “Lily is fiercely loyal.”

I jerk back, stunned. Am I? I guess I never really thought about it, but I do stand up for my own. I might not defend myself all the time, but I’ll throw down with anyone who says a word against Peri or Shannen, or Daddy or Aunt Rachel. I’m more than a little surprised that Quince noticed.

“Perfect.” Calliope nods at me. “Your turn.”

I’m still reeling a little from his comment, but I try to focus enough to come up with something less…superficial than my first. For some reason, I think back to that moment in the bathroom stall after he stopped me from going after Courtney for making fun of Shannen. How he held me tight and reassured me. I take a deep breath and try not to think before I say, “Quince can be very tender.”

He winks at me.

Then, before Calliope can cheer my statement or tell him to go, he says, “Lily has no sense of fashion.”

“Hey,” I cry. “You’re supposed to say something nice.”

“No arguing, Lily,” Calliope chides. “This is not a dialogue.”

But Quince ignores her, keeping his gaze locked on mine, and says, “That was nice. I can’t stand trend chasers and wannabe supermodels. I like girls who are fresh and unique. Individual. Like you.”

Calling someone unique isn’t always a positive, but the way Quince says it makes it sound like a huge compliment. I kinda like the idea of being fresh and unique. Makes me sound like an exotic flower.

I’m picturing myself as a bird-of-paradise when Calliope says, “Your turn, Lily.”

Oh, right. My turn. The test, Lily, the test. I try to rein in my floral fantasy and return to the task of figuring out what I like about Quince.

No one seems in a rush to hurry me up, so I have time to compose my thoughts. I try to distance myself from the situation and look at him with my fresh and unique eyes. He’s sitting there, watching me, as if we’re alone on the island. Calliope could be in the South Pacific for all he cares.

That gives me an idea.

I take a deep breath before finally saying, “Quince doesn’t care what others think of him.”

That’s the biggest compliment I can give someone. I mean, I can’t stop worrying about what others think of me. Boy, do I wish I could have that kind of carefree confidence. I just don’t have it in me.