I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up in my own throat. The house felt like it was spinning, but in a way that was exhilarating rather than terrifying.

I smacked Blake’s shoulder, but he just laughed harder, his grip unwavering. “Where are we going?” I asked, clinging to him.

“No idea,” he admitted, spinning us in a wild, unsteady circle. “I just—I can’t sit still. I feel like I need to run. Or jump off the roof. Or⁠—”

“Please don’t jump off the roof.”

The unmistakable sound of raised voices drifted through the air, growing louder as we approached the kitchen.

“Are they still fighting?” I groaned, already dreading what we might find.

Blake snorted, adjusting his grip on me as he carefully made his way toward the kitchen. “Do they ever stop?”

We peeked in, and sure enough, there they were: Tiffany and Jamal, animatedly arguing over something that seemed completely ridiculous. “Do you even know who the Spice Girls are?” Tiffany demanded, arms crossed so tightly over her chest that it looked like she was holding herself back from physically shaking some sense into Jamal.

Jamal scoffed, his hands planted firmly on his hips as he shot her a look of pure exasperation. “Why do you always have to take things so seriously?”

“Because someone has to be the adult here,” she retorted. Then, as if the real offense had only just hit her, she threw her hands up. “I can’t believe you don’t know who the Spice Girls are.”

Jamal rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might actually get stuck. “Oh, please. They’re just a bunch of girls singing about zigazig-ah.”

Blake and I exchanged a glance.

“Should we intervene?” I whispered.

He shook his head. “Only if they start throwing things.”

With a dramatic huff, Tiffany spun on her heel and declared, “You know what, Jamal? If I wanted to deal with disappointment, I’d just start dating again.”

Jamal made an offended noise, throwing his hands in the air. “She doesn’t know who 2Pac is, and she’s calling me the disappointment?”

Blake snorted, his grip on my waist loosening just enough for me to slide down to my feet. His hand lingered at the small of my back, warm and steady, like he was keeping me tethered to him.

He watched Jamal with an expression that was far too amused, then said something rapidly in Arabic that made Jamal’s ears flush a bright red.

His entire posture stiffened, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He blinked, then cleared his throat, shaking his head like he was physically trying to rid himself of whatever Blake had just said to him.

“What did you say to him?” I asked, trying to suppress a laugh at Jamal’s flustered expression.

Blake turned to me with a lazy smile, leaning in slightly. “Nothing you need to know.”