But how could I ask Daniel to do that? He’d been working there longer than me. He was clearly close with Andre, and even to some of the residents. I couldn’t ask him to lie to them all.
I looked at Daniel, and he shrugged at me. “Hana invited us to a party in her backyard next weekend,” he said.
“Oh, that sounds amazing!” Muniba said. “They have the best parties.”
I shook my head. “We’re probably not going.”
“Samaya thinks a big party with all her friends is a bit too intense for our first official date,” Daniel said. “She wants to go bowling instead.”
I blinked at him. Was he really okay with ...?
Muniba laughed and looked back at us for a second. “Hah! I won that bet.” She looked at Andre. “I told you there was romance blossoming between our young volunteers.” She patted Andre’s shoulder. “Andreand I first met volunteering at a food bank, and we’re still working together. And still married.”
Wait.What?“You two are married?” How did I not know that? “But you’re so different!” I blurted out.
Andre huffed a laugh. “Married twelve years next month. We had an October wedding. And yes. We’re like oil and water. But when you shake us up, we emulsify into a smooth, velvety salad dressing.”
Muniba slapped Andre’s shoulder. “That’s gross. Samaya, careful getting involved with people in the cooking field. The metaphors are ... colorful. And kind of disgusting, sometimes.”
Andre chuckled, then lowered his voice to sound sultry. “We bring so much flavor to relationships. Sweet, and just the right amount of spicy.”
“A real recipe for happiness,” Daniel added.
Muniba groaned, and I laughed.
It was after four by the time we got to the shelter. Daniel and I helped unload the van before we went to the shelter dining room to go over his calculus for next week. His teacher said they would still be doing limits, so I went over the next lesson in his textbook with him. The dining room was a bright, large space with big round tables and plastic chairs, and one wall full of windows. Each table had a different colored tablecloth on it.
“I can’t get over how much easier this is with you explaining it,” he said. There were some women sitting at another table, and they’d brought us a full teapot and mugs when we first sat down. I was learning that the residents at the shelter had a tendency to spoil Daniel. Probably because he’d been working here so long.
“I’m really not anything special,” I said. “Some people learn better one-on-one. Have you never had a tutor before?”
He shook his head. “Nah. Mom could never afford that. And I disagree. Youarebetter.”
I rolled my eyes and told him to do the next question on his own while I sat back with my tea. I couldn’t tell if he was being flirty or friendly. That seemed to be a thing with Daniel. Watching him interact with customers today clarified this was how he was. His friendliness came across as flirty. He gave out compliments like other teens gave out snark. But it made me wonder, if he was so attentive to everyone he met, what was he like when hereallyliked someone?
He’d told Andre and Muniba we were together. Like,together. Why? Did he need the calculus help so much he was willing to do anything I wanted? Signs pointed to yes on that, considering he’d just called me the best teacher he’d ever had.
“Do you mind?” he said, pulling me out of my train of thought.
“Do I mind what?”
“I usually listen to music when I do homework. Do you mind if I put something on?”
I shook my head. “Go ahead. I usually have music on, too.”
He fiddled with his phone a bit. A slow beat came out of the speakers.
“Nice. What is this?” I asked.
“Just some lo-fi jazz. I listen to different instrumental stuff when I’m studying, and this is my newest favorite.”
I tilted my head, letting the music go through me. “It’s kind of similar to the old jazz I study to. Most of my records are from the seventies or eighties.”
He raised a brow, impressed. “Records? I’m surprised. You’ve never struck me as an old-school hipster.”
I chuckled ... and probably blushed. My old record habit was a bit quirky and sounded pretentious, which was why I rarely mentioned it to anyone. “They’re my dad’s old records. A bunch of jazz, and lots of classic Bollywood. Most were his dad’s. When I was little Dad used to teach me to memorize math stuff by reciting it to the beat of seventiesand eighties Bollywood music.” I tapped my pencil along to the music. “I can still sing digits of pi to the tune of a bunch of old Hindi songs.”
He smiled slowly, shaking his head. “That’s so awesome. Now I want to get a record player to be as cool as you.”
