I beam and tolerate a cheesy-ass moment where we look at each other. It’s always nice to have someone around who you know enjoys your company, but it’s especially nice right now. In New York. Alone. Living in a house with my mother who pretends I don’t exist.

“We’re in the same city for at least three days,” Zarar comments.

“Except we’re not. I’m out in Jersey.”

“Okay, we’re on the same coast for the next three days,” he corrects.

I nod. “We are.”

“So, will you go out with me while you’re here?” The edge of his mouth turns up again.

My heart pounds excitedly. I urge it to calm the fuck down.

“If we go out as friends,” I tell him.

Z looks toward the sky, and lets his eyes fall back to mine. “Okay.”

“Okay.” We stare at each other for another moment.

Zarar feels like a lifeboat in a sea of distrust. I want him on my side. I want him to talk to when I need someone to talk to. To hang out with when I’m not working Parent Confrontation Trap bullshit. I need an ally over here.

“You’re going to need my number, then,” I snark.

“Finally.”

I smile harder. “What’s your number, Zarar?”

I punch it into Siri’s iPhone and press send. He pulls his phone from his pocket and I snatch it from his hands. “Thank you.”

I add myself as Your Friendly Neighborhood Jamie. It takes me an embarrassingly long time to do. One day I will conquer the intricate labyrinth that is the iPhone keypad.

Zarar takes the phone back from my outstretched hand. “Phone thief.”

“That’s what my coworkers call me.”

“Do they?”

I grin. “No.”

“One of my new jobs is having a rooftop thing Sunday night. Come with me?”

“A rooftop thing—how swanky.”

“Is that a yes?”

I put a hand on his arm. “It’s a yes, Z. Text me.” I drop my hand and take a step in the direction of QCZ. “I’m this way.”

His brows rise. “I’m that way too.”

I serve him some side-eye as he continues to walk with me. “Are you stalking me or are you really this way?”

“I am really this way.”

I grin at the ground, watching other feet go by ours. I’m wearing Siri’s stark-white sneakers. She has three pairs of them in her closet. Zarar’s wearing stylish black boots.

I glance up at him. “You’ve got mad style, Z.”

He pulls a sort of bashful expression. “Thank you. One of the many things I enjoy is being well dressed.”

I nod appreciatively and hang a left at the next corner. Zarar hangs it with me.

“Okay, I’m just a block farther this way,” I explain.

Zarar stops, lightly taking my arm to stop me as well. “I’m also a block this way.”