“He agreed?” Anam asks, peering over my shoulder at where Emmitt is sitting with Grant, sprawled at one of the cafeteria tables as if it’s a throne, rather than a plain blue bench. It’s like a worse version of manspreading.

“Lower your voice,” I say, gesturing vaguely. There’s still twenty minutes before first period starts, and our school is buzzing with noise, despite the Monday morning gloominess outside. Rosie is running late, so I figured now was a good time as any to clue Anam in. “You’re not supposed to know about any of this.”

“Then you shouldn’t have told me,” Anam singsongs, but her eyes are wide as she takes him in. We’re sitting near the exit, me on top of the table, and her on the bench below. There are people weaving in and out of the cafeteria, grabbing breakfast before class starts or heading straight for their lockers. “You really insulted a celebrity to his face, huh?”

“Apparently so,” I say, sighing, before pointing a finger at her in warning. “His movies are banned from our movie nights. I’m serious.”

Anam turns to look at me, her mouth puckered. “Can we still watch the Firebrand one when it comes out?”

“Maybe,” I say. “Depends how much he pisses me off the next five weeks.”

“Fair enough.” Anam stares at Emmitt in consideration. “You know, he’s kind of hot.”

“Don’t start,” I warn, elbowing her. “The last thing we need to explain to Ma and Baba is how you wound up with a celebrity boyfriend.”

“I meant generally,” Anam says, pouting. “Although if anyone is going to end up with a celebrity boyfriend, I think it’s you.”

“Shut up,” I say, flicking her nose. One of Anam’s volleyball friends coos at the gesture, and Anam waves her away. “In his dreams.”

“He should be so lucky,” she agrees, a grin coming to life on her face. She leans her elbow on the table, scattering half her APUSH notes. “But imagine you two taking over the film industry. The hate-to-love international implications of it all...”

“You spend too much time on the internet,” I say, knocking her head lightly. “Go back to watching BTS music videos.”

“My favorite group is TWICE, dumbass,” Anam says, but there’s laughter in her voice. Sometimes I think my sister is the human personification of the sun. “BTS is cool, though. I like their music.”

“And they’re gorgeous,” I add.

Anam’s eyes take on a mischievous glint. “You know, Emmitt kind of gives me a Taehyung vibe—”

“Shut up,” I say again and hop off the table, leaving her giggling in my wake.

As I’m heading up the main stairway, someone taps my shoulder. I turn my head and meet Emmitt’s brown eyes.

“What?” I ask.

Emmitt grabs my hand in response, startling me into almost dropping my phone, and pulls me into the mathematics hallway.