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Maybe he kick pigeon and it kill him
Big Bird
Oliver because he is only one who knows about bird allergy!?
But why he die in my shop??
Maybe he know he is having allergy reaction, and he think, Ah, tea will help because tea is good for health.
Poor Marshall. Why he don’t call out to me to make him tea?
Oh yes, he cannot talk because throat closing up.
OH, STUPIDCASE!
FIFTEEN
RIKI
Riki can’t remember the last time his body has been this tense, all his instincts shouting at him to run. Well, okay, he can. Unfortunately, that was also the day that Marshall died, so maybe it’s best not to recall that particular memory.
For a while, he and Sana walk down Julia’s street without talking. Sana seems to be deep in thought. He notices that she chews her lower lip when she’s deep in thought, which is kind of cute.
Kind of cute? What the hell, brain? Just—god, just keep it together, will you?
“Are you calling an Uber?” Sana says.
“Huh?” Right, they’d come here in Oliver’s car. Riki looks around him, trying to get his bearings. He’s somewhere in Laurel Heights. Getting an Uber all the way from here to Twenty-third Street is going to cost him. “No, I’ll probably just take the bus. You?”
She nods. “Same. Where are you headed?”
He tells her, and her face lights up. “Oh hey, that’s where I live too. I’m actually not too far from Castro.”
“Cool, that’s just a few blocks away from me.” He can only afford his place because it’s an old studio right above a nightclub. He wonders how Sana can afford her place. Prices there are notoriously high.
As though reading his thoughts, she says, “My mom is rich. She helps me out with my rent. I have a roommate, though.”
“Oh, cool.” Riki often gets tongue-tied when he’s nervous, and he’s finding that he’s increasingly nervous around Sana. Back home, his mother teased him about not being able to talk to pretty girls, but he’d been so sure he’d managed to shake off that shyness. Maybe it’s the whole “one of them is Marshall’s killer” thing? That’s definitely a mood killer. As they walk, he searches for something to say. “Is your mom a techbro?”
Sana snorts. “Hah! You know, maybe that would make her less obnoxious, actually. But no, my mom’s an author. You might have heard of her. Priya M. Singh?”
“I’m not a big reader,” Riki says apologetically. Saying this to the daughter of an author feels wrong. His insides are burning with embarrassment.
“Ah. You heard of the HBO seriesThe Spice Ladies?”
“I don’t watch it, but yes, I’ve heard about it.”
“My mom wrote that.”