His lips turn up. “Merely a lowly altar boy.” He wipes the counter off with a towel, then throws the towel over his shoulder. “What’ll it be? Anything you want. Go crazy. It’s on me.” He grins. “Least I can do for someone who just spent the better part of their evening on the Green Line.”

The line my aunt and uncle live off of is notoriously slow, a trolley more than a metro of any kind. Once you transfer to the Red, you’re back in the modern world. It takes an hour, sometimes more, to get to the other side of the Charles River.

“Just coffee. Black.”

“This isn’t just coffee,” he says. “It’s organic free-trade earth magic made by genies.”

I laugh. He makes me smile and laugh. And that adds up to something, I know it does. I’m good at math.

“Well, then I’ll have a magical cup of coffee.”

“Coming right up.”

I glance over my shoulder at the large main room behind me. “Nate here yet?”

“He’s on his way. Got caught up in a lab.”

I slide off my backpack, then shrug off my wool coat—a recent gift from Aunt Nora, since there is no need for an Angeleno to ever own one. She took me to a vintage store here in Cambridge, and even though it smells like an old lady’s closet, I love it.

Ben turns around and sets the coffee down, then gives the thick striped turtleneck I got at the dollar sale in the Jet Rag parking lot in Hollywood an approving look.

“I like your style, Mae.”

I glance at his faded tee and fitted sweats. “Thanks. I appreciate your nod to disgruntled scholars everywhere.”

He laughs. “Usually I make more of an effort, but I was at the meditation center before my shift—can’t sit on a cushion in skinny jeans.”

“Meditation?”

My world tilts just a little, which I know isn’t possible because we’re spinning, which is an entirely different—my point is: Ben Tamura throws me off balance. For just a moment, I see Dad sitting on his cushion. He’d like Ben. I really wish they could have met each other.

“I’m not a Japanese American cliché, I promise.” He huffs out a laugh. “I don’t do karate. Or eat sushi.”

“Manga?”

“Okay, yeah, you got me there. You?”

He must know he looks like Ichigo. He must. “A little.”