Saturday morning, and there's someone at the door.

  I'm halfway through a bowl of cereal, still in pajamas, scrolling through the group chat with one hand. Maggie's posting photos of the center from yesterday - some event I missed while I was at school and she was skipping school. Lily's complaining about a professor. Tasha's sent three links to articles about Argus Corps operations with no commentary, which is her version of saying "we should talk about this."

  The doorbell rings again.

  "I've got it," Dad calls from somewhere upstairs, and I hear his footsteps on the stairs.

  I'm not really paying attention until I hear the voice.

  "Hi, Mr. Small. Is Sam home? I brought her something."

  Oh no.

  I look down at myself. Pajama pants with little sharks on them. Oversized t-shirt that says TACONY PUBLIC LIBRARY SUMMER READING CHALLENGE 2019. Hair doing something architectural. No bra.

  "Sam!" Dad's voice has a particular tone. The one that means he's trying very hard not to laugh. "You have a visitor."

  I consider my options. Escape out the back door. Pretend I'm not home. Spontaneously develop the power of invisibility.

  None of these are realistic.

  I shove my cereal bowl into the sink and speed-walk to the front door, trying to finger-comb my hair into something resembling order. Dad's standing there with the door open, and Alex Kirby is on the porch holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates and looking like he's about to face a firing squad.

  "Hey," he says.

  "Hey," I say.

  Dad looks between us. "I'll just... be in the kitchen." He retreats, trying very hard to keep a stone face.

  Alex is wearing a nice jacket over a button-down shirt, which is more formal than I've ever seen him. His hair is actually combed. He's clearly put effort into this, which makes it worse somehow.

  "These are for you," he says, holding out the chocolates. "Happy Valentine's Day."

  I take the box because I don't know what else to do with my hands. "Thanks. You didn't have to--"

  "I wanted to." He shifts his weight, nervous energy radiating off him. "I know you're going to the center today. I figured I'd catch you before you left."

  "At eight in the morning."

  "I wanted to make sure I didn't miss you."

  We stand there for a second. The February air is cold on my bare feet. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm goes off and then stops.

  "Alex," I start.

  "I know what you're going to say."

  "Do you?"

  "You're going to say it's not appropriate. That you're in a position of authority. That I'm your subordinate or your charge or whatever." He's talking fast now, like he's rehearsed this. "But I'm not, really. You're not my boss. You're not my social worker. You're just... you. And I like you. And I know it's probably terrible timing, and I know you've got a lot going on, but I figured if I didn't say something I'd just keep making weird eye contact."

  "And trying to raid a warehouse to impress me,"

  "That's not--" Alex starts. I narrow my eyes just a little bit and his mouth snaps shut like a scared dog. Okay. That's a little bit gratifying. I open my eyes back to a normal width because I don't want him to piss himself, and I look at him. Sixteen years old, standing on my porch with chocolates, putting himself out there in a way that takes actual courage. He's not wrong that it took guts. He's not wrong that I'm not technically his boss.

  "Can I say something?" I ask.

  "Yeah. Obviously."

  "I think you're brave for doing this. I think it's sweet that you brought chocolates at eight AM on Valentine's Day. I think you're a good person, Alex." I take a breath. "And I think this isn't the right time."

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  His face does something complicated. "Because of the authority thing?"

  "Partly. But also because--" I try to figure out how to say this. "There's a war happening. Not metaphorically. An actual, literal conflict, with sides and stakes and people getting hurt. And I'm in the middle of it. Not as much as I used to be, but I'm still in it. And you're in it too, because of the program, because of your powers, because you're connected to me."

  "I know that."

  "Do you? Because dating someone in the middle of a war is--" I shake my head. "It's a distraction. It's a vulnerability. It's something that can be used against you. Against both of us."

  Alex is quiet for a moment. "That's really paranoid."

  "I've earned paranoid. I've been kidnapped, attacked, framed, hunted. People I care about have been hurt because of their connection to me." I hold up the chocolate box. "This is sweet. You're sweet. But I can't be someone's girlfriend right now. I can barely be someone's friend. I'm just trying to get through each day without anyone else getting hurt."

  "So it's not about me."

  "It's not about you. It's about the situation." I meet his eyes. "If things were different - if we met at school, if there was no Kingdom, no Argus Corps, no any of this - maybe. I don't know. But that's not the world we live in."

  Alex absorbs this. I can see him processing, deciding whether to push back or accept it. He swallows. "That didn't stop Peter Parker."

  I resist the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. "I don't read comics, so whatever that's supposed to mean doesn't really work on me, I'm sorry."

  Here's the test. Not that I like testing people. Or that I've ever been asked out. I remember that I was the one fumbling over Jamila, not the other way around, before she, uh, vanished from my life because I couldn't put the war down. But it's something that makes sense to me. Is he going to double down, or is he going to, uh, retire gracefully?

  His nostrils flare. "I'm annoyed. Because. It's so..." he grabs for the words. "If this were like the movies then there would be time for both. And like. It'd make us stronger as a team."

  I try to keep my face neutral. He exhales, and then he inhales again. Come on, man, don't make me start keeping you at arm's length. I can't dog walk you there.

  It takes him like... ten seconds. "But this isn't really a movie, is it?"

  I feel very weird that my internal dialogue's first impulse is to reward him like I'm training a greyhound. But I smile anyway. I guess because I feel happy? Or grateful. Relieved? I'm not sure what any of those emotions really feel like, in a way that distinguishes them from each other. "No, it's not."

  Another ten seconds pass.

  "Okay," he says finally.

  "Okay?"

  "I mean, it sucks. But okay." He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. "I'd rather you be honest than give me some fake excuse. So. Thanks for that, I guess."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong." He manages a small smile. "I'm still going to make weird eye contact, probably. Fair warning."

  I snort. "I'll survive."

  "And I'm still coming to the center today. Just so you know. Not because of--" He waves a hand vaguely. "Just because I want to help. That hasn't changed."

  "Good. We need the help."

  We stand there for another moment. The awkwardness has shifted into something more manageable. Not comfortable, exactly, but not terrible either.

  "I should go," Alex says. "Let you get dressed. Eat breakfast. Whatever."

  "Yeah. I should--" I gesture at my shark pajamas. "This whole situation."

  "The sharks are cute."

  "Goodbye, Alex."

  He grins, and for a second he looks like a normal sixteen-year-old instead of a kid caught up in something bigger than himself. "And Sam?"

  "Yeah?" I ask, folding my arms over my chest not to signal displeasure but because it's cold outside and I'm not wearing a bra.

  "It's not a cowboy movie or an action movie. But it's not a political thriller, either," he says, reverting back to, like, near mute shyness, which is really weird given how boisterous he's been since the day I met him at Harrisburg.

  Hold on, what? "What's that supposed to mean?"

  He gets his grin back. "I'm just saying. You could lighten up a little bit. Not like in a romantic way. Just like... generally."

  He heads down the porch steps, and I close the door, and I lean against it for a second, holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates and feeling approximately seven hundred emotions at once.

  "That sounded like it went well," Dad says from the kitchen doorway.

  "Were you listening?"

  "Only a little." He's got a coffee mug in his hand and absolutely no shame on his face. "The part about the war was good. Very mature."

  "Please stop."

  "I'm proud of you. That's all I'm saying." He takes a sip of coffee. "Also, those chocolates look expensive. You should probably share."

  I look down at the box. It does look expensive. Red velvet, gold ribbon, the kind of thing you'd find in a fancy candy shop rather than a CVS checkout line.

  "He really went all out," I say quietly.

  "He likes you. That's not a crime." Dad shrugs. "You handled it well. Didn't lead him on, didn't crush him. That's hard to do."

  "It felt mean."

  "Honest isn't mean. Mean would be stringing him along, or making fun of him, or pretending you didn't notice." He sets down his coffee. "You treated him like a person. That's all anyone can ask."

  I think about that while I head upstairs to get dressed. Alex, standing on my porch with his rehearsed speech and his nice jacket. The look on his face when I said no - disappointed, but not destroyed. Accepting it because I was honest about why.

  Maybe that's the best I can do right now. Be honest. Treat people like people. Try not to make things worse.

  I get dressed, eat the rest of my cereal, and grab my bag for the center. The chocolates go in the fridge - I'll share them with the team later.

  Maxwell's in the living room when I come downstairs, doing something on his laptop. He glances up when I pass.

  "Saw the kid leave," he says. "You okay?"

  "Fine. It was a whole thing."

  "Valentine's Day." He nods like that explains everything. "You heading to the center?"

  "Yeah. You need anything before I go?"

  "No. I'll be here." He turns back to his laptop. "I'd say be careful, but--"

  "Yeah yeah, the running gag," I cut him off.

  "Right."

  I head out the door, into the gray February morning, toward the community center and whatever the day has in store. The chocolate box sits in the fridge behind me, a small kindness from a boy I can't date, in a neighborhood that's slowly being squeezed, in a city that's holding its breath.