It’s even warmer today somehow. I stuffed my sweater in my backpack within five minutes of waiting for the R train at Forest Hills.

Emmitt is wearing a brown coat, a black hoodie peeking out from the top. I don’t know how he’s not warm. He’s never dressed correctly for the weather.

“Come on,” I say, pulling him by the lapels of his coat inside the train. It’s pretty empty, considering it’s only two in the afternoon on a Thursday, so we quickly find seats.

I sit down first, expecting him to take the seat beside me, but he sits across from me instead. I shrug to myself, unbothered, until I see his fingers reaching for his camera.

No wonder he sat over there.

The camera shutter goes off, a click sounding in the otherwise silent subway. I flip him off in response.

A woman a few seats away smiles as she looks between me and Emmitt. “You two are so cute.”

My mouth falls open, certain I heard that wrong. “Me? And him?”

Emmitt scoffs across from me. “You should be so lucky.”

I turn my glare on him. “I will throw something at you.”

“You never live up to your threats, sweetheart,” he says, waving me off.

For a minute, I genuinely contemplate crumpling a piece of paper and lobbing it at his head, before I realize the woman is still staring at us, a soft smile on her face.

Ya Allah.

Next time, I mouth, pinning Emmitt with daggers.

He only blows me a kiss in return.

21

Once we’re out of the subway, I take lead, weaving my way through the tourists heading for Times Square. “Don’t fall behind, pretty boy,” I call over my shoulder.

Emmitt, busy staring at the billboards and bright lights of the heart of New York City, startles at the sound of my voice. There’s so much traffic, yellow and green cabs honking left and right, that I’m surprised he heard me at all.

After a belated moment, he falls in step beside me. “Will you explain to me what we’re doing here now?”

“We’re going to the standby line for Saturday Night Live,” I say, tucking my fingers in my jean pockets.

A wrinkle forms between Emmitt’s brows. “Why?”

I smile faintly, recalling a particularly daring escapade of mine involving the SNL line. “Because people camp out for days in order to get standby tickets.”

Emmitt falters, staring at me aghast. “On the sidewalk?”

I nod. Last year, Rosie and I spent three days in sleeping bags in anticipation of Saoirse Ronan hosting Saturday Night Live.