Friday came. School happened. I sat with Leaf, Morgan and Erin at lunch that day as I had all week. Other kids had come to introduce themselves, and some of them were nice enough that I’d consider maybe hanging out with them, but I was still most comfortable in the corner table with the other “atypicals.” We weren’t Stonington’s standard fare and we knew it. We were also blazingly okay with it, by all appearances, anyway.

“We’re still on for movies tonight, right?” Morgan asked, wiping ketchup off her mouth with her sleeve. Erin tsked and shoved a napkin at her. Morgan looked at it, dashed at her already-clean lip and then threw it onto the table. “I already checked with the ’rents. Dad’s taking Mom line dancing later so the house is ours.”

Erin flinched. “Your poor mom.”

“No, they like it, the weirdos.”

“I’ll be there with bells on,” I said. “Devi, too. She’s looking forward to meeting all of you. Anything we can bring?”

“Soda’s always good. We’ll have oven pizzas and chips and stuff,” Erin said.

“Got it.”

“I’m bringing some pastry tonight, I think,” Leaf said. He was busy unpacking yet another amazing-smelling lunch, smiling all the while. I was leaning forward to steal a sniff when Leaf cut off a piece and slid it my way on a mini paper plate.

Like he’d done every lunch since I’d met him.

He winked at me.

“Enjoy.”

“You don’t have to keep feeding me!” I wasn’t really complaining—the food was delicious—but I didn’t want him thinking I was a dog sitting by his leg at the dining room table begging for food, either. It’s not like he was feeding his other friends, too.

Leaf just shook his head and lifted his finger, reaching out to tap the tip of my nose.

“In my family, you always give food to appreciative friends. It’s etiquette.” I wanted to reassure him that I had plenty of food, to just look at my overloaded tray, but he simply nudged the paper plate my way a second time. “Eat, or you’ll offend me, gadzo. And if you keep objecting, bad ideas will sail into your open mouth and take root.”

It was again one of those moments when I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, so I shut up and ate. I had no idea what I’d thrust into my mouth, but it was similar in flavor to the other Romani dishes I’d been lucky enough to sample. Some sweet. More spicy. Enough heat that the roof of my mouth tingled. There was tomato there, and garlic and pepper, but beyond that, I didn’t even know what meat was in it.

I didn’t really care, either, if we’re being honest. Every bite was a treat.