Sydney put her hand on his shoulder, her fingers kneading the skin beneath his shirt. She seemingly noticed my presence for the first time, her eyes sweeping from my head to my stupid Mary-Jane-clad feet, which I swiftly tucked under the seat. When her eyes came to rest on the big white letters sprawled across my flat chest, she raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Nice shirt.”

More heat shot to my face, burning me. “It’s math. The square root of a hundred and—”

“Shall we go?” Sydney walked her long, slim and perfectly French-manicured fingers across Ash’s chest and up toward his neck.

He put his hand over hers, and I expected him to stand up, make his excuses and take off, but instead he removed her fingers and let them drop by her side. “I said no, thanks.”

She flashed him another smile, not quite as bright this time, and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“I’m having fun here. With Maya.”

Sydney blinked three times in quick succession. Something told me she was used to getting her own way, be it at home, school or with her friends. “But—”

“Later, Sydney.” Ash looked at me, grinning as he leaned in. “Okay, Maya, can you explain that math concept again because I’m not sure I understand it completely.”

Sydney turned and marched to her table, where she spoke with her friends in a clipped tone. From what I could gather, she insisted they were leaving, now, and they stormed out of the diner in a collective bad mood, each of them throwing looks of disgust our way.

Mom and Brad hadn’t paid attention to the exchange, they were too busy chatting about a movie they wanted to see, and when Brad reached over to wipe a spot of ketchup from Mom’s cheek with his napkin, I promised myself I’d be much nicer to her about him.

“Thank you,” I said to Ash, the words coming out as a whisper.

“Anytime.” He gestured to our parents with his thumb. “I don’t know about you, but I suspect we’ll be spending quite a lot of time together. Maybe I should call you Little Sis?”

I giggled, soda spilling from between my lips. “Or Bee.”

“Bee?”

“It’s what Mom calls me. Maya the Bee.”

“Cute. Okay, Bee it is.”

I needed to say something else, anything to keep him talking so I didn’t have to. “Do you know why you were named Asher?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, looking down, his smile fading, his lips falling silent.

Scrambling to change the subject, I asked about school and the wrestling team, and when his smile returned it made my chest swell as I sat back to listen. After half an hour, Mom leaned over and whispered in my ear, asking if I wanted to leave. I shook my head, and she gently squeezed my knee.