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“Happy to help.”

“I’ve been waiting on you.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Emir says.

“That’s not an answer, Emi,” Sebastian says, faltering, because,shit, he didn’t want that silly, childhood nickname to slip out. He flinches when Emir’s eyes widen, only momentarily.

“After I did my Fajr prayer—”

“I’m sorry, what?”

A wrinkle appears between Emir’s eyebrows. He says, exasperated, “TheFajr, the dawn prayer we say as Muslims. You don’t remember?” He waits.

Sebastian nods slowly because he does, vaguely. He’s only seen Emir’s parents praying on those mornings when he sneaked over to wake Emir. But they were so young, and Sebastian was clueless about the religious terms used by the Shahs.

“I’m used to having to explain my religion to everyone,” Emir continues. “People talk about my skin color, my accent, my faith.” His cold and fragile tone shakes.

Sebastian steps forward. He knocks their shoulders and raises his eyebrows. It’s a weak attempt to communicate that he remembers. He still likes Emir for who he is, every part.

Emir sags. “Faith is a big thing for Abbu, so I try not to disappoint him.”

“That’s cool,” Sebastian says, because he hasn’t thought of something better.

His slight height advantage means Emir raises his chin to smile at him. It cracks open Sebastian’s brain; old memories flood out: playing video games, eating lunch side by side on the playground, backyard races, Sebastian’s constant attempts to impress because Emir was soepic.

“We should, um,” Sebastian stutters, rubbing the heel of his hand over an eye.

“Time for a run?”

“Yes!”

Sebastian could point out that a run after smoking isn’t wise, but he’s not here to highlight Emir’s bad habits. Plus, he can totally use it later, when Emir is being a jerk because Sebastian wants to add an extra mile to their run.

“Also,” Sebastian grabs Emir’s wrist, his thumb pressed to the pulse point on the inside. “Hunter’s a good guy.”

“What’s that mean?” Emir asks, brow furrowed.

Don’t be a dick to him,Sebastian wants to say. Instead he says, “I saw what happened yesterday. He’s a good guy, Emir.”

Emir considers him through slit eyes. Then, after taking a deep breath, Emir nods. “Time to run,” he whispers, freeing his wrist from Sebastian’s grip.

Sebastian doesn’t argue. He gives Emir a head start and catches up when the sting in his chest subsides. It’s a relief when neither of them mentions the stupid kiss or not being friends anymore.

* * *

The dining hall is emptyafter practice. It reminds Sebastian of a post-zombie apocalypse. Coach O’Brien confiscated half of the team, including Willie and Mason, to go replay footage of the St. Catherine’s boys in the rec room. Everyone acts as if the tension buzzing from the coaching staff about the Spartans game is normal.

Sebastian fears that, this time, they’ll be in over their heads. He plays it cool, though, parking his exhausted body at their table by himself. Summer is at its height; a mild heat wave is only tolerable because they’re so close to the lake. He kicks a foot up on a chair, studying today’s lunch: yogurt, a granola bar, and an especially green protein shake.

Is this what college is going to be like? Unless he’s willing to die a boring death by staying in Bloomington, he’ll be solo while Mason heads to Michigan, where his uncle is in good with a few of the coaches, and Willie does the local thing.

Sebastian frowns at his yogurt.

“You look funny when you’re thinking.”

When Emir plops down on the tabletop, Sebastian’s eyes open wide.