I shrug. Miss Turano assigned this project weeks ago—groups of four have to present a lesson for the entire class, acting as if they’re the teacher. It was fun to plan it, but less fun to actually present our lesson, given recent circumstances. “It could’ve been better.”

“You mean because of Rosie,” Emmitt says, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

My lips press together tightly. “What is there to talk about? My best friend thinks I’m a selfish bitch.”

Emmitt inhales sharply. “She said that?”

“She might as well have,” I mutter, climbing up the stairs to the subway entrance.

Emmitt follows me, but his expression is cold now, almost cruel. It reminds me of the few times I’ve seen him without his mask on, before he trusted me. This is the Emmitt Ramos that the press calls an asshole.

Yet, just by looking at him, I can tell it’s a protective instinct. And the person he’s protecting today is me.

“Why would she do that?” Emmitt asks, his voice low and scratchy. “You know it’s not true, right?”

I shrug, swiping my MetroCard through the turnstile. We’re heading to the Bronx today, so we’re going to have to switch to the 4 train halfway through our ride, but a transfer should cover that.

“That’s not an answer,” Emmitt says darkly, swiping his own card through in one go and following me. “Mina, you know that isn’t true, right?”

“Rosie has known me for four years,” I say instead, heading for the Manhattan side of the station.

Emmitt shakes his head, trailing after me as we walk onto the platform. “She’s mad at you,” he says, though his cool expression wavers for a brief second, bemusement flitting across his face. “She probably said things she didn’t mean in the heat of the moment.”

I laugh bitterly. “No. I’m pretty sure she meant it.” The R train starts to approach, hot wind blowing in every which way. It doesn’t annoy me for once, which is confirmation I’m losing my mind. “Let’s not talk about it anymore, okay?”

Emmitt looks like he might protest but then ultimately decides not to. We both grab the same pole, my pinky nudging his index finger. One of his rings brushes against my skin, and I find that doesn’t bother me, either. Yeah, I’m definitely losing my mind.

There are too many people crowded in the train to have any kind of productive conversation, but once we switch to the 4 train at the Fifty-Ninth Street station, a seat opens up.

Emmitt gestures for me to take it, so I do, and he busies himself standing above me. I lean my head back, closing my eyes, and hear the telltale click of a camera. I open one eye to look at Emmitt.