I realize he’s waiting for an answer and look back at my notes. “You also have three months to get to know me, so let’s do that another day. We should spend as much time studying as possible. I want you to do well on the Regents.”

Ace presses his lips together before nodding. He reaches for his ice cream and says, “I’m listening.”

Surprisingly, he does.

I outline the first chapters of The Scarlet Letter, because it’s clear he’s not going to read it. Not today, at least. Maybe in a week or two, once I’ve shown him English doesn’t have to be boring. I manage to keep my cool the entire time, which is nothing short of a miracle.

I lay out the themes and write down discussion questions for our study session tomorrow. Ace doesn’t interrupt me, but he also never contributes, so I’m not sure who’s winning our little tug-of-war. I would say it’s me, because my grade doesn’t hinge on this, but I also just lost an hour of my life, so...yeah.

As I explain, I pause to eat. The cheesecake is the best cheesecake I’ve ever had, and I kind of understand why it’s eight dollars. I think Ace can tell, because there’s a hint of mirth in his eyes—which now look more green than blue, but are still somehow a mix of the two—when he sees me take my last bite.

“Would you like another slice?” he asks, and I get the distinct feeling he’s making fun of me.

“I’m fine,” I say and glance at my phone for the time. I nearly have a heart attack when I see 5:30 p.m. “Oh shit,” I say and start shoving my things in my bag, not bothering to put my papers back into their assorted folders. “I have to go.”

My parents are going to kill—oh.

I falter and stare at my own hands as if they’re strangers. My parents are eight thousand miles away. They’re not here.

“Ahmed?” Ace says, looking at me with a bemused expression. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry, I—” I don’t know how to explain the irrational anxiety that rose up inside me at seeing the time. I don’t know if he would understand. I’m not scared of my parents—but I am scared of disappointing them. “Sorry,” I finish weakly.

“What’s going on?” His eyebrows are furrowed now. “Do you need me to take you home?”

“No, it’s not—” I stumble, trying to find the right words. Finally, it seems easier to tell the truth, if only the bare bones of it. “I have a curfew, and I thought I broke it. But my parents are out of the country right now, so it’s fine. Just a force of habit, I guess.”