“Call me when you’re off.” Angela touches Jamal’s neck, and he covers her hand with his. It’s intimate. I want them to be embarrassed they were caught. Just earlier today she proposed we work on some exposé. Her last words were don’t tell Jamal. What is she up to?

Angela walks past me, all carefree, acting like she doesn’t hold my future as an editor in her hands. Is she playing games with me? And the way she was all up in Chris’s face at school—arguing over something, then making up with him—only to mess with Jamal hours later? She’s got no concern for what kind of harm she could do to my family if Jamal lost his job. This is probably some kind of thrilling dare for her, seeing how far she can take things without getting caught. Then she’ll joke and tell her friends as they laugh at how brave she was for hooking up with Jamal, the son of a killer. How stupid was I to think I could trust her to help me lock down my editor position for next year.

“Really, Jamal?” I punch Jamal’s arm for taking such a chance with Angela, messing around at work. He’s never held the reserved shame like I do, so I’m hoping he’ll feel some kind of semblance of pain this way.

“Why you gotta be like that?” Jamal flinches, blocking my hand before I land another punch.

“If you get caught, you could lose your job.”

“I know. I know. But I’m too quick, though. Fastest feet in Texas.”

“Well, you’re not that quick, ’cause I could straight see you as soon as I walked in. What if Mr. Herron came in?”

He should know more than anyone, one slipup and your life can change.

“Here’s some dinner.” I throw the bag on the table, and he starts unwrapping it. “It’s only four o’clock!”

“Gotta keep my energy up.” He scarfs his meal within minutes.

I watch him eat, reminding myself why I’m here.

“I saw Daddy on Saturday.” I pause and run my fingers across the flickering lights on the production board. “I told him about the interview, how it was my fault. He watched. Said we should talk it out. Wants us to stick together.”

“No time to go over spilled milk. I’m working, and it’ll be a late one.” Jamal doesn’t hesitate.

“I can come back after.”

“No. I mean, it’ll be a laaate one tonight.”

Jamal brushes his shoulder to emphasize how fly he thinks he is, then leans at the edge of his stool, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You must be desperate to want to hang out with me when you know you owe me big-time for what you did. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you.”