Cena De Lopez is one of the finest dining restaurants in the sub-region with exquisite but over-priced food, a live performer at night, and warm, wet towels served before the appetizers. Mellow, Spanish music plays in the background, and the air smells like comfort but expensive: spices and beans. Unsurprisingly, David asks the host to seat us by the window.

My mother happens to be a cook in their kitchen. She'd often come home smelling like their food and always brought home lime-scented towels for us. Now, I subtly bring the wet cloth to my nose, inhaling the familiar, fresh scent that reminds me of her. The two pairs of piercing eyes watching me make me drop the cloth, and I harden my gaze at them, wiping away any hint of mirth from my face. I don't enjoy being gazed at like a wild zoo animal.

My casual, old shirt stands in contrast to the sundresses and formality surrounding me, and I am sharply aware of that. I resiste the urge to pat down my frizzy hair. Instead, I clasp my hands in front of me, placing my bruised knuckles on display. David's son, Atlas Roman, flits his gaze to my knuckles, eyebrows furrowing only for a second. Pretty rich boy doesn't like what he sees.

David clears his throat and pats the white napkin on our table, signaling the official start of our arrangements. "I'd like to have a driver with you at all times."

"What's wrong with taking the subway to school?"

I can't afford a car, but I'm not used to other people working for me. And I don't find the idea appealing. Usually, Marli's mom takes us to school, but on the rare occasions when she can't, using the subway is never a bother.

Atlas scoffs but says nothing. He's been staring daggers at me the minute we sat down.

"Sage, darling, I'm taking you to one of the best private schools in the Upper East Side. You shouldn't spend forty minutes taking the subway when I can easily provide you with a driver that'll get you there in twenty."

"I don't like being in debt to anyone." It sounds stupid as I say it; he's paying my damn school fees.

"It's nothing," he sighs, "but if you insist, you can share Atlas's driver."

Atlas's head snaps to his dad. He wants to say something, but his dad only stares at him blankly, daring him to refuse. They seem to silently communicate with their eyes until Atlas's expression turns defeated. He looks down and nods.

Before we can carry on, a waiter stops by our table to ask for our orders. I choose the cheapest dish, still aware of Atlas's scrutinizing gaze.

Feeling a surge of insecurity, I can't help but wonder what he sees through his eyes. I lack the need to impress him, but surely he is comparing me to the wealthy, polished girls in his school. I knew I'm not unattractive but nothing about my face is striking. My nose is too long with an aquiline shape and my eyes are small, holding hazel orbs that are a faded brown more often than green. The non-subtle scar across my eye doesn't exactly help.

"I'm surprised you let us buy you lunch," Atlas retorts with a mocking tone, speaking for the first time, "you know, with your whole 'not wanting to be in debt' thing. It's funny since we're already paying seventy grand to get you into this school."

Seventy grand?! Do they wipe their boards with gold?

"I'm surprised you speak, you know, with your whole scared of daddy thing."

"Watch it," he mutters through a clenched jaw.

David ends his call and returns his attention back to us. "Enough bickering. About that, Atlas and I already discussed it and he agreed to help you fit in. He'll show you around, introduce you to some of his friends, make it easier for you."

At that, Atlas's expression sours even more. I see. No wonder he hasn't taken a liking to me; he thinks I'll be trailing around him like a desperate, little sister, embarrassing him around his friends.

"There's no need for that," I reply with even distaste, mirroring Atlas. But the second the words leave my mouth, I give it another thought. If I want to get the information and evidence I need, there is no one better to get closer to than the son of the culprit himself. Worm my way into his friend group and find a way to get into his house.

David shakes his hand, dismissing me like I am a child asking to stay up late at night. "It's already done. Right, Atlas?"

His glaring eyes meet mine. "Right."

I look away from him as something catches my eye through the window. A bunch of coins glint in an open guitar case, reflecting sunlight. The case belongs to a man with long hair strumming at a guitar around his neck. He sings with his eyes closed, swaying from side to side, and a few people mill around him, clapping enthusiastically. Just another person trying to get by in New York.

A few minutes later, the delicious scent wafts up my nose before the waiter serves the food on our table. I'm suddenly glad for the loud chatter and upbeat music masking the rude growling of my stomach. Mumbling a thanks, I start eating the bowl of beans, trying not to finish it embarrassingly fast.

Once we finish our meals, and someone takes back the empty plates, David gets back to business. He really does not like to waste time.

"Now that, we're clear with my side of the agreement, let's talk about yours."

I knew this was coming, but I still dread it all the same. "Let's get this over with, what do I have to do?"

"All I need from you is a few pictures to get the journalists talking. You'll be coming with me for a few events to really fool them, but after that, you can finish your semester in peace, and we won't bother you again."

I let his words process in my head and nod slowly. It's nothing I don't expect, but the last part sticks. "Events?"

This time, Atlas explains in an exasperated voice. Clearly, I'm not the only one that wants to get this over with. "Our family likes to throw a lot of charities, fundraisers, that type of thing. When the photographers get a few pictures of your face at events like this, the image we want will really stick."

"Fair enough. Anything else?"

"Yes," his dad answers, warily looking at my split knuckles, "I expect you to be on your best behavior in this school. There's no use getting a girl in need into this school if all she does is cause trouble. I want the press to talk, but not like that."

"As long as I don't get provoked," I brush off the insult with a sickly sweet smile as I turn my gaze to Atlas. He is not the first person to comment on my gruff ways of dealing with things.

He narrows his eyes at my smirk and leaned back in his seat.

David exhales and says nothing, tired of our back-and-forth bickering. He orders the bill, pays, and we make our way out of the restaurant. Marli texted me earlier, asking us to hang out at her mom's Chinese convenience store. It's a thing we do often do all the time. Roan, Marli, and I would wander around her mom's supermarket, binging on Asian junk food and playing with the carts. We agreed on a time, and I texted Roan to meet us there.

Outside the restaurant, David says goodbye and I turn to the direction of the nearest subway station. I already memorized most of the routes and locations after countless times of using them all over the city. It's one of my favorite things about living here, taking that mode of transportation, and letting it lead you to wherever in the city.

As I start making my way to the station, a cold hand grabs my forearm. Instincts kick in and I elbow the person holding me, cursing myself for leaving the knife in my bag back at work.

"Ow, you bitch!" a muffled voice hisses, and I relax a little as I spin to face him. Atlas.

"Don't sneak up on me."

"Sneak up on you? Are you out of your mind?" he snaps with a hand rubbing his chest over his expensive blazer. His eyes are wild and accusing, and I resist the urge to laugh at his bewildered face.

"What do you want, Atlas?"

"I wanted to get a few things straight before you show up on Monday."

I cock an eyebrow, and he shifts back into the smug persona that suits him more. So different from the guy sitting next to his dad a few minutes ago.

"I'm only doing this because I have to. As long as you stay out of my way in school and I stay out of yours, we'll be good, you and I," he points a finger between us, "get in my way, and you won't like it."

I tilt my head, taking my time with my answer. The annoyance radiating off of him amuses me to no end. "Don't worry, pretty boy. I don't want you in my way either."

"So, we're clear."

"Yes, we're clear."

༺༻

Roan laughs in mischief, his curls bouncing, as he scurries away from Marli chasing after him with a cart. She manages to bump his heels twice but he zigzags between the aisles to lose her. A few people by the ramen section shoot daggers at them as they giggle like unsupervised children. Marli's mom is kind enough to let us spend a lot of time here, and we've been doing it for years now.

Marli walks back to our table with flushed cheeks and stray hairs standing out of her perfect braid. "That little rodent is faster than New York street rats," she exhales, punching a hole in her grape juice box with a straw.

"Yeah, you should see him run when he has my charger."

She laughs with the straw in her mouth, and Roan plops himself on a chair next to her.

"What is it about rats and my name that I hear?"

"We're admiring your ancestry," I snickered.

He mocks me the way thirteen-year-olds do with crossed eyes, his tongue out, and flailing hands.

"Case in point."

He rolls his eyes and rests his round chin in his hands. In a few years, when he grows into his features, the hazel-eyed, dimpled, round face will morph into a more handsome one. Now, he looked so much like Mom.

"Will you bring home rich, hot girl friends when you start going to that school?" he asks with suggestive, waggling eyebrows.

I scrunch my face in disgust and shove his excited face away. "Why, so you can infect them with some rat disease like leptospirosis?"

"Do you even know what that is, Sage?" they ask simultaneously.

I want to look mad but the smile on my face betrays me. "No, actually, I heard some man on the subway today talk about it."

I only let myself feel and sound dumb around these two. The filter I built between my brain and mouth falls away at the sight of Marli's joyful grin and Roan's curious eyes.

Marli juts out her lower lip in a fake pout. "Will you forget about your poor, sick brother and orphan friend sulking back in Harlem?"

"Yes," I roll my eyes, "I'll ditch you guys for the plastic bitch princesses and daddy's little boys in Wetherton. As a matter of fact, you guys should get my autographs from now."

"Yes, please a crumb of your presence," Roan pleads with his palms pressed together in a praying position. This time, my shove pushes him off his seat, and he lands on the floor with a cackle. He leaves us alone and ventures into the kitchen, probably to beg Marli's mom for another cup of noodles.

Marli touches my hands with a somber look, her jet black bangs forming a curtain over her lashes. "Don't forget the reason you agreed, Sage. But also . . . I want you to be careful."

I give her a reassuring smile. "You know me better than anyone else, Marls. You have nothing to worry about."

"That's exactly why I'm worried." She rolls her eyes. "You . . . act out of passion."

A genuine laugh bubbles itself out of my chest. "Is that a line from one of the classics you're always reading?"

She doesn't find it funny and fixes me a deadpan look.

"Fine," I huff. "I'll be careful. Really, there's nothing to worry about."

She gives me a tentative look, searching my face for solemnity before finally nodding.

"Good. Now let's pull your brother out of my mom's kitchen before she feeds him to the fish tank."