Later that evening, just as Arin was settling in, he heard a soft knock on his door. Opening it, he found Shanaya standing there, clutching a notebook against her chest with the look of someone about to commit a crime.
“I need your help,” she whispered conspiratorially.
Arin raised an eyebrow. “With what exactly?”
She sighed dramatically. “An English essay. Mom wants me to suffer and cry, but I’m not an English person—I’m an artist, okay? So, you need to help me. And Mom can never know.”
Arin smiled, crossing his arms. “You want me to be your secret academic accomplice?”
“Yes!” she hissed. “I’ll owe you one. Just… don’t make it too obvious, or she’ll know.”
Arin chuckled, stepping aside and gesturing for her to enter. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with.”
As Shanaya slipped inside, grinning, Arin wondered just how deep he was getting entangled in this family’s world.
And why he didn’t mind at all.
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