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I turn and walk over to Noble as he’s finishing his impromptu lesson with the kid.

“See that there? That’s why you’re tipping and fighting so hard not to get pitched off. Rule number one is Get Forward, Stay Forward. Also, don’t sit on your pockets,” he says with a smile. “Put some room between your backside and his topside.”

“Wow, Mr. Kane, thanks!”

“Try that,” Noble says. “I think it’ll make all the difference.”

“I will,” the kid says. “Promise.”

Noble hands back his phone, and the kid runs off. He looks at me, something like contentment on his face.

“Maybe the number of people who dislike you is smaller than you think,” I say.

“Nah.” He stands back up. “I think it’s ‘The Hattie Effect.’”

I laugh. “Trust me, there’s no such thing.”

“You’re wrong about that,” he says. “These people trust you. Showing up here with me is like—” he shrugs, eyes searching the air as if the words are waiting for him there. “It’s like an endorsement.”

“Yeah, well, that and five bucks will get you five bucks,” I say. “On a coolness scale, I’m pretty sure you rank a lot higher than I do.”

He laughs softly. “On a goodness scale, you’re off the charts.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off and pull out my phone, checking my list to see what else I need. “Shoot. Honey.” I start walking again.

“Honey?”

“Yes, Mrs. Porter—she used to work in the principal’s office at the high school, remember?” I toss him a look— “I’m sure you do, with her being so sweet every time you got a detention⁠—”

He nods. “Oh, right. I remember.”

“She sells honey.”

“Think she remembers me?” He sounds a little worried.

I look at him. “Be honest. Why do you care what a bunch of people in Silverwood think about you?”

A shrug. “It’s like I said at dinner—this place is the only place that’s ever felt like home to me. You know what it was like before I got here.”

I nod, thoughtful. He told me once I was the only person who knew the truth about his mom. I wonder if that’s still true.

“I just need to make things right,” he says. “To own up to my mistakes.”

I’m so distracted—and surprised—that I almost run into a man in a wheelchair. I pause to let him pass, forcing myself to smile, searching my mind for something else to say and getting caught up on the question pulsing through my brain—am I a fool if I believe him?

“So, what happens after you win everyone back?” I ask because “Are you going to leave again?” would reveal too much.

He scrubs a hand over his beard and draws in a breath. “I don’t know. I’m trying to take it one step at a time. First step is to make things right. After that—” He shrugs.

I go quiet and look away, noting the number of people still staring at Noble.

“You’re skeptical,” he says.

I pause. “I am.”

He doesn’t waver. “It’s okay. You’ve got every right to be. But I’m going to prove you wrong.”

I don’t respond. I don’t usually like when people prove me wrong, but this time, I realize, that’s exactly what I want.