“Leah Jimenez,” Samir says, his tone despairing. In the back of my head, the girl from the bleachers appears. “She goes to Miss Cannon’s after-school tutoring. She said you helped her with Fahrenheit 451.”

I blink at him several times. “Okay, and...?”

“What do you mean?” Samir runs a hand through his hair. “Bro, come on, just tell me what’s up. What’s she like? What’s she into?”

“I’m not your bro,” I say, raising my brows. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t really know her. She was just a random freshman I helped.”

Samir makes a horrible sound like he’s dying. I’m starting to wonder if maybe he’s secretly related to Cora. “Myra.”

I narrow my eyes at him for withholding the honorific for older sister, Apu. “Don’t call me Myra.”

“Oh my God, I can’t call you bro, I can’t call you Myra. What do you want from me?”

I throw a wad of paper at him. “Get out of my room if you’re going to be a clown.”

“No, no, don’t kick me out.” He holds his hands out in a pleading gesture. “Please, come on. Just give me something to work with. I really like her.”

“How can you like her if you don’t know anything about her?” I ask, shaking my head.

“Well, I’m trying!”

I huff a laugh. Trust boys to do the bare minimum and chalk it up to effort. “Try a little harder. Maybe talk to her yourself?”

“If you asked me for help with Ace a few weeks ago—” Samir starts and I throw another piece of paper at him. “What? There’s no one else here. Come on, I just covered for you yesterday! Are we going to pretend you’re not attempting to date some random white guy?”

“Leah isn’t Bangladeshi or Muslim,” I say pointedly. “That’s two facts right there. Did that help?”

Samir groans again. “I know that already. But if you can do it, maybe...”

The sentence stops me in my tracks, and I stare at my brother imploringly. Lionheart, whispers a treacherous voice in the back of my head.

“Come on, Myra Apu. Please?” Samir says.

I sigh. “If I tell you something about her, can we both return to peace and quiet?”

“Obviously. You think I want to be in your room? It smells disgusting in here.”

I gape at him. “It smells like cinnamon.”

Samir wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, and lavender and vanilla and peppermint. None of that shit goes well together. Stick to one.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Just tell me the thing.”

“You are the most annoying human ever,” I say, but the words hold little heat. “All right, fine. Her favorite book is Jane Eyre.”

My brother squints. “Her favorite book? Really?”

I sigh and point at the door. “Out. Out, out, out.”