Me: Yep

I knew this went against Qwan’s mandate to not show too much interest, but I couldn’t resist adding:

Me: Can’t wait

“Why you looking so goofy?” Shianne asked, suddenly beside me, her baby quiet now that a bottle was in hand. She leaned over my shoulder. “Who you texting?”

My phone went facedown on my thigh. “Nosy.”

“Whatever.” She went for the far end of the couch, began to sit, then stopped, scanning the area. “Crap. Left my books in the kitchen.”

She lunged at me, thrusting the baby forward. “Hold her a sec.”

I damn near somersaulted over the back of the chair. “Hell no. She’s tiny.”

“She’s tougher than you think.”

“I don’t know how, Shi.”

Huffing, she said, “You make a cradle with one arm, let your chest be like a backboard. Keep her head up, and hold her bottle with your other hand.”

Running wasn’t an option because, apparently, new mothers had cheetah speed. Before I could protest further, little Zoey was wedged into the crook of my elbow, only squirming in the moment her bottle left her lips while Shi made minor adjustments to my hold technique. Then the feeding resumed, with me tilting the bottle at an angle the child was happy with.

“Shi!” I pleaded.

“It’ll be thirty seconds, Del.” She was halfway around the corner. “If she doesn’t make it we’re both going to jail, so don’t mess up.”

Zoey’s eyes pinned me, big brown marbles that expressed mild curiosity over her new food supplier, though no objections. When my initial adrenaline rush tapered, I realized my terror was unwarranted. Me and Zoey were doing fine.

Shi returned, slung her backpack onto the middle couch cushion, but did not reclaim her child. Instead she flopped, with her arms spread wide and head angled toward the ceiling, eyes closed, groaning. “Red Bulls do not last like they used to.”

I said, “Do you want her back?”

“In a sec. Let her finish the bottle.”

I did, observing what could only be described as ecstasy on the girl’s face as her belly filled. With her bottle nearly empty, I asked, “What are we studying?”

Shianne did not open her eyes when she said, “Del, so, real talk . . . I don’t need you to tutor me. My grades were always better than yours.”

What? “Why am I here, then?”

“My parents don’t trust me to do things on my own anymore. ‘You’re still going to college! You’re still getting a degree! In spite of your self-sabotage!’ It’s like they’re mixing punishment with proactiveness. I don’t know. They said get a tutor. You’re the only person I can stand at that school right now, and they like you. So I got you. I’m sorry if that sounds shitty. Since Zoey was born, I don’t have much of a filter.”

That was unexpected. I tried to decide if I should be offended. “Am I still getting paid?”

“Yes.”

I was not offended.

Though, I did wonder. “None of your other friends?”