I consider him for a moment. His eyes are always analytical, carefully watching. I’ve noticed it from the moment we met. Even when he chooses to flirt and tease and joke, there is always a hidden shrewdness present in the depths of his gaze. Only recently did I realize he watches me as much as he watches his surroundings. “No, I don’t think I would be, actually.”

He cocks his head. “Perhaps.” Then he’s back to his charming self, grinning obnoxiously. “Come back with me.”

I scoff. “They sent you, of all people, to come get me?”

Emmitt holds his hand out, wiggling his fingers in offer. “Yes.”

My nose wrinkles. Even though my frustration has receded, I’m still not quite ready to face Rosie yet. “Not yet,” I say, before I wiggle my own finger, spinning it in a slow, mocking circle. “Why don’t you do a few twirls for the camera in the meantime?”

For some reason, Emmitt’s smile only grows more suggestive.

“Or you could drop dead on camera,” I add, resisting the urge to tug on my braid. “That’s also acceptable.”

Emmitt chuckles and drops his hand. “Come on, Samina. You’re holding up everyone.”

I sigh, slumping my shoulders. I don’t want to inconvenience the others. “Fine.”

As I walk past him, he pauses, giving me a curious look. “Hey, we’re still meeting at two on Thursday, right? At the Thirty-Sixth Street station near AAAS?”

I poke a finger at his chest, trying not to think about the tattoo that lingers not far beneath my hand. “It’s not pronounced Ace. It’s A-A-A-S. And yes. Don’t be late.”

“Ace sounds cooler.” Emmitt loops his finger with mine, his grip slightly too tight. “And I wouldn’t dream of it.”

I almost mention my cousin Karina’s boyfriend is named Ace, but Emmitt doesn’t need to know any more about my personal life than he already does. Instead, I pull away, rolling my eyes. “Whatever, dickhead.”

20

When I get to Thirty-Sixth Street, Emmitt is already there, sitting on one of the wooden benches, toying idly with his camera.

My skin is still crawling from my encounter with my dad this morning, when he caught me awake at five in the morning. I have reoccurring insomnia because of my depression (not that my parents believe me—“Just go to sleep. How hard can it be?”), and I often lie awake staring at the ceiling, my mind numb.

Today, instead of staring despondently at the wall, I decided to sit in the living room and watch some bad television instead, hoping it would trick me into falling asleep. Cats (2019) was the most boring film I could think of, but even that didn’t work.