The other girl, Erin, gave herself a once-over in her compact mirror before going at her lunch. “Hey, I’m Erin. Sorry Morgan lacks chill.”

“I have chill! But we live in Stepford.” Morgan motioned around her. “I have a theory that they reproduce by splitting in half, like amoebas. They’re actually all the same person.”

Leaf giggled. It wasn’t what I’d expect from a big tall guy like him, but it worked. “There’s a lot of good people,” he said. “Some are jerks, but most are good people.”

Erin nodded. “Morgan’s just being sarcastic.”

“Sarcasm is like breathing for me.”

“Puns, too,” Erin warned. “She likes puns.”

“I love puns! And I’m good at them.”

“That’s debatable.” Erin softened the dig by sharing a french fry with Morgan. Morgan snagged it between her teeth, play-snarling at her girlfriend. “Tell her the one you told me earlier.”

“I can’t just pun on command, you know. It’s punreasonable.”

“...what? No,” I said, because Morgan had attacked me. Morgan had attacked me with puns and I wasn’t having it. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Morgan said.

“And she’ll do it again,” Erin added.

“That’s how Morgan does.” Leaf unpacked his lunch, opening up a freshly microwaved Tupperware dish with beef and garlic and pepper inside. It smelled so good, my fingers practically itched to steal it. He must have noticed; he tipped the dish my way to taunt me with a whiff seconds before cutting off a piece and putting it on a napkin to slide it my way. “My father’s a good cook. He loves to cook for people, too. You should come over some time. Have some good Romani food.”

“Is that the cabbage thing he makes?” Erin practically swooned in her seat. “With the beef and rice and spices? It’s so good.”

“Oh, wow. I remember that,” Morgan said. “Mr. Leon’s a great cook.”

I chewed what was effectively a spicy casserole wrapped in a cabbage leaf. It was delicious, and my yummy noises must have pleased Leaf, as he grinned.

“It’s called sarma. And yes, it’s good, but don’t tell him that or he’ll get a big head.” Leaf chuckled. “It’s spicy. I hope it’s not too much. My grandmother taught my father to cook, and she’s full Rom. I’m a little kinder with the pepper being a diddicoy.”

For the second time since meeting him, I had no idea what a word he said meant.

“A diddicoy?” I asked. “And that was amazing.”