“You have enough brothers?” he drawls, and my face warms at the callback.
“Well,” I say. “We are a full house.”
Ajoba tuts, but he does me the dignity of returning to his chess game without another remark.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Michael is in a cheerful mood throughout our shift on Monday. Shockingly cheerful, considering that a day care field trip is ongoing today, and sticky-handed children have been scurrying around the space all afternoon. The checkout line is never ending, and we’ve had to break up more than a few heated disputes over ourDragon Witchselection. I’m wiped within the hour, but Michael takes it all in stride, patience unhindered.
After comforting another crying first grader, Michael takes his seat by me. My eyes narrow when he begins to hum to himself, lips tilted up as he clicks back onto the computer.
“What is goingonwith you?” I ask, unable to take it anymore.
He meets my eyes, nonplussed. “What do you mean?”
I wrinkle my nose. “You’re just so… happy.”
He raises a brow. “My bad,” he says, voice dry.
I roll my eyes. “Something’s up,” I say. “Spill.”
His composed exterior cracks at the nudge. He swivels in his seat to face me, eyes bright and joyful. “It’s just,” he starts. “Things have been really good,” he says. He shakes his head, intoxicated off the happy news. “Like, really, really good.”
His energy is so infectious that I laugh too. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says with a dreamy sigh. He pauses and gives a bashful smile. “I got into the poetry seminar I was applying for,” he says.
I gasp. “Michael!” I exclaim, reaching over to squeeze his arm. “That’s amazing, I’m so proud.”
He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but his expression is pleased. “It’s mostly seniors and grads, so it’ll be a challenge, but I’m feeling really up to it.”
My smile deepens. “Beyond impressive,” I say. It’s clear his fear of asking Ms. Okonkwo for a recommendation a few weeks back was totally ungrounded. “We’ve got to celebrate.”
He beams, but I can tell something’s left unspoken. I tilt my head at him. “What else?”
Michael chews on the words, debating how much to say, and his voice is hushed when he finally speaks. “I’ve kind of been talking to someone,” he says.
My mouth drops, and Michael hurries to continue. “The last thing I want to do is jinx it,” he says. “And I hate getting all excited about a person only to feel foolish later,” he adds. “But.” He picks at his jeans. “I think I really like him.”
I knock on the wooden table to show I take his apprehension seriously. “Tell me everything,” I say. “Who’s the guy?”
He hesitates. “Aryan,” he says finally, voice hushed. My eyes widen at the admission, and Michael goes on. “We hit it off atthe housewarming. I hadn’t seen him in months, and we’ve never been friends, just have lots of mutuals, so it was the first time we actually chatted, just us.” A smile starts on his lips. “We’ve been texting since, and it’s been so sweet. Our first date is this week.”
I lift a hand to my chest. “That’s lovely,” I say. “It’s so exciting.” His eyes flash, and I knock on wood again for good measure.
Michael continues. “It’s not without complications though,” he says. “Given how close Aryan and Kush are. I haven’t mentioned much to Zara and Noelle because of that.” I blink back at this, hopeful I am maintaining a poker face. “But I think Zara caught a vibe when we were playing rage cage.” He frowns, as if trying to remember something. “You weren’t there for that, were you?”
I shake my head, busying my hands at my desk. “Don’t think so, no.”
His frown deepens. “Yeah, you disappeared for a sec,” he says. “I remember, I was looking for you before piñata time.”
I can feel my cheeks growing warmer. “Huh,” I manage.
He tilts his head, contemplative. “I was so caught up about Aryan that I forgot to check in,” he says. “And now I’m realizing we never debriefed. Where’d you get off to?”
I don’t respond right away, unsure whether it’s best to be honest or quiet. But my expression must give away some panic, because Michael squints at me. “Rani?”
I’ve never been a successful liar, and I also don’t like the idea of lying to Michael, who has been such a welcoming friend to me. So I settle on the truth. “I was with Kush,” I admit slowly. “On the terrace.” In as swift and mechanical a manner as possible, I summarize the events of the evening, emphasizing my drunken state and clear lapse in thinking. Michael’s eyes widen in horroras I speak. I close with: “But none of it matters, since it’ll never happen again.”
