I turn to Ace, trying to get rid of the nervous jitters. God, I wish I could light a candle. “So...bowling?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling at me. Something loosens in my chest. “I’m letting Mia practice driving.”

“So you’re looping me into dying with you.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” he says, laughing and offering me his hand. “Come on.”

I almost slip my fingers through his but falter, staring past him.

Samir is already in the car, peering over Mia’s shoulder. The windows are down, so I can hear when he says, “How far is it?”

“Like ten minutes, Rafiq. Relax,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Not now,” I say to Ace, my throat tight. Samir isn’t looking at us, but if he does, I’ll be caught out before I can explain. “I can’t—my family...”

Ace gives me a curious look, but doesn’t press, lowering his hand. “Let’s go, then.”

I give him a small smile. “Okay.”

Daniela is sitting in the front beside Mia, so Ace and I slide in the back beside Samir. His eyes are bright, his body vibrating with excitement.

My brother hasn’t had the chance to go bowling in a few weeks. My dad usually takes Samir every weekend, some kind of father-son bonding thing I’m not privy to. All my mom and I ever do is listen to dreamy Bengali folk music together. She knits and I make origami—more for my anxiety than anything else—and after a few albums, we go our separate ways.

Samir looks forward to his outings with Baba, though, so it’s no surprise he’s eager now.

Mia turns the radio to a pop station and starts singing outrageously along as she shifts the car into Drive.

“Pay attention to the road,” Ace says, exasperated. “I invited Santos specifically so you wouldn’t attempt to murder us.”

“Daniela and I will happily die together,” Mia says without missing a beat. “Isn’t that right, babe?”

Daniela’s expression is uneasy, her fingers gripping the upholstery tightly. “I would die for you but maybe...maybe we could postpone the dying part until we’re like twenty-two and drowning in debt.”

Mia looks thoughtful. “Fair enough.”

Samir looks between them, eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t know you guys were dating.”

“Is that a problem?” Mia asks, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

Samir smirks and opens his mouth to say something undeniably obnoxious, so I elbow him roughly. I know he doesn’t have a problem with it—he was also one of the first people to reach out to Nabila—but he’s still a teenage boy with the proclivity to joke around in favor of being serious.