“Hey.” She smiles and pulls me forward. She kisses me, and it’s like all the tension from those questions in my back and shoulders flows out of me, my entire body sighing. She pulls back and we both exhale, and if I could blush, I would.

“I promise. They’ll be cool,” I say, hopping up the stoop to the front door. I jiggle the doorknob, but it’s locked, so I wrestle for my keys in my pocket.

Before I can put the key in the lock, the door swings open.

It’s my mom, blonde hair and all smiles, her bright blue eyes wide and welcoming. They flit over to Amina, and her face turns up in an expression like she might cry.

“Mom—” I start.

“Aminaaaaaaa!” my mom says, skirting past me and down the three little steps to the sidewalk, her arms wide open. She hugs Amina, who is staring at me wide-eyed, like she has no idea what to do. My mom lets her go and holds her shoulders. “We’ve heard so much about you. Welcome to our home.”

“Th-thanks?” Amina says, in almost a question.

“I’m here too, Mom,” I mutter as she walks right by me again, leading Amina into the house.

“Oh shush, you,” she says, shooing me away as the two of them go inside first. I follow quickly and close the door behind us.

My mom is smiling like someone who is hiding something, someone with a surprise. She turns to our dining room, which you can see right from the front of the house, just a little past the small living room. “Michael told us all about you, Amina, and well, his father and I wanted you to be comfortable.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Becker,” Amina says, still glancing back at me.

The table is already set, my father sitting at the very end. Some of my cousins sit around the living room, plates in front of them, gossiping about who knows what, while my aunts and uncles sit at the table with my dad. I pull out a seat for Amina and she sits down, and I settle in next to her.

“What can I get you?” my mom asks, clasping her hands together, so eager to please.

“Mom, it’s okay, we’ll just pick at stuff?” I look at Amina, who nods. “We ate a bit at her parents’ house.”

“Well, I hope you have room for dessert.” She smiles and hustles over to the kitchen, returning quickly with an apple pie.

“Oh! And how could I forget!” She dashes off again, and I look over at my dad, who shrugs and shakes his head.

“School okay?” he asks.

“Yup.” I nod.