“Don’t worry about it,” I said to Jahan.

He nodded. “What’d you think of Drag Race?” Jahan asked.

I forced down a bite of pasta. “It was good,” I said, chewing, swallowing. “You and your friend seem to really be into it.”

Jahan’s eyes lit up. “Oh, we’re obsessed. You know why? Because drag queens don’t give a shit. There is no group of people on this planet that gives less of a shit than drag queens. People can call them freaks, say they’re confused or sick or whatever, and they don’t give a shit about any of it.”

I smiled. “Even clowns care what people think of them,” I said.

“Oh, clowns are the most fragile bitches in the world. They can hardly take criticism. Trust me. I’ve dated enough clowns to know. Drag queens, though”—Jahan made a chef’s kiss with his fingers—“ugh, I just love them.”

“Also, on a technical level,” I said, swallowing down another bite of pasta, “it’s amazing how they can just transform like that.”

“Exactly! They transform. They sing. They have fabulous wigs. They’re like—what’s the name of that Disney star who was a regular girl but secretly a pop star at night?”

“Hannah Montana.”

“Right. I knew it was something Midwestern. Anyway, drag queens are like Hannah Montana but less tacky.”

“First of all, how dare you diss Hannah Montana like that?” I said, pointing my fork at Jahan. “Second, I don’t think Montana is even in the Midwest. It’s technically part of the Northwest.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“I . . . once spent a whole Saturday editing all the Wikipedia pages for the different geographic regions in America?”

“I’m not even going to ask.” Jahan ruffled my hair. “Weirdo.”

“Says the guy who watches drag queens on TV every Sunday.”

“Well, it sounds to me like you’ve come around on the matter of drag queens,” Jahan said, winking at me. “You thought they were like clowns, but they’re so much more. See? You just had to give them a chance.”

I told Jahan I was meeting Neil soon for our first lesson.

“What are you doing today?” I asked.

“I was going to go to Naples—it’s such an easy day trip from Rome—but that seems out of the question now, doesn’t it?” Jahan sighed. “I should really do my algebra homework. I’m a few lessons behind.”

“So you’re working?”

“Probably not. It’s too lovely a day to be responsible. If we’re being honest, I think I’ll just head down to that café across the street and, oh, I don’t know.” He gestured out the window. “Maybe write.”

“A poem?”

Jahan shrugged. “Possibly. Or something else might catch my attention. A friend. An aperitivo. I can’t control these things.”

• • •

The bookstore was still busy when I arrived. Neil asked me to hang tight for a minute while he moved around the store, recommended books, plucked them off the shelves. He was friendly to everyone he interacted with, even as he wiped beads of sweat off his forehead. His Big Bookseller Energy was on full display.