We struck up a conversation, and at the end of it he asked me out. This still feels like the most improbable thing ever. A guy asking me out doesn’t seem like something that is possible in my world, which consists of Notre Dame High School (Catholic, all girls), babysitting my little sister, hanging out with my big sister, and my art stuff (a largely solitary obsession). I’d never been asked out before. And then suddenly—bam—there was Leo. Athletic, affable Leo. Who likes me, maybe even loves me. Who wants to kiss me.

And other things.

God, I think. What have I done?

There’s a single sharp rap on my bedroom door. Pop’s voice. “Dinner.”

“Okay,” I call back faintly. “I’ll be right down.”

Chapter 3

3

In the dining room I take my usual seat between Mom’s chair and Afton’s. Afton is eighteen and essentially a carbon copy of our mother—whip-smart, take-no-shit-from-anybody, and annoyingly gorgeous, with long ash-blond hair and hot-fire-blue eyes.

“I thought you were staying over at Lucy’s,” Afton says.

I shrug. “No.”

“Did you get in a fight? What’s going on?”

Normally I tell Afton everything of significance that happens in my life. But now is definitely not the time. Besides, just thinking about Leo is making my face feel hot and prickly.

“Nothing,” I insist. I give a little shake of my head that means, I’ll tell you later.

“Where’s Mommy?” Abby asks, a welcome distraction from Afton’s inquisitive gaze.

“She’s not here.” Afton smirks, a twist of her pink-petal lips. “What a shock, right?”

“I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.” Pop sets a steaming dish of meat in the center of the table, then a bowl of what looks like mashed potatoes with corn and peas in it. Meat and mashed potatoes. Not Pop’s usual dinner offering.

“What is that?” Abby asks loudly, staring at the gravy-like substance surrounding the meat like it has oozed down from outer space.

“Is it . . . beef?” Afton’s a ballet dancer. She’s always careful with what she eats. As in, no red meat.

“Nyama na irio,” Pop explains, like that explains it. “It’s a Kenyan dish.”

Ah. That does explain it. Pop recently took one of those DNA tests that tell you what ethnicities you’re made up of. According to said test, Pop is 45 percent African (Nigerian, Kenyan), 26 percent European (British, Irish, Iberian), 14 percent South American (Columbian, Argentinian), 3 percent Native American, and then traces of other random stuff. Pop calls himself a “worldly specimen.” Ever since he received the results, he’s been researching and cooking meals from the different specific cultures he’s related to. Last week was fish and chips. The week before: arroz chaufa de mariscos, a kind of spicy seafood and rice. And now this.

“I don’t eat beef,” Afton says, her perfect nose wrinkling.