Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
“Hour and ten across the board,” Cody confirmed, leaning over to check Jean’s schedule. Four days of the week Jean’s classes would end at one-fifty, and the Trojans’ afternoon practice ran from three until eight. Cody pointed to the statistics class Jean had scheduled after ceramics on Mondays and Wednesdays and said, “I’m in this one with you, so I’ll make sure we find something to eat afterward. Coaches will give us snacks at break but waiting until eight-thirty or nine for a real dinner is miserable.”
“I like late dinners,” Pat said, almost apologetic.
“Weirdo,” Cody grumbled. “But speaking of dinner, how about we eat before I die?”
“Do you like malai kofta?” Ananya asked. Jean wasn’t sure if that was a place or food, but Ananya only nodded when he frowned confusion at her. “Then that’s what we’ll have. You’ll like it, I’m sure of it.”
“Maybe.” Cody eyed Jean. “Laila implied you were a picky eater.”
“Mindful,” Jean corrected, a touch frostily.
“If you say so,” Cody said.
“As if Laila can comment on anyone else’s eating habits when she drinks that—what is that stuff called?” Pat looked from Cody to Ananya for help. “That weird tea with the chewy balls in it.”
“It’s not that bad,” Ananya protested, as Cody said, “It’s absolutely foul.”
“Horrendous,” Jean agreed, and Ananya sighed defeat.
They set off for the north end of campus. There was a crosswalk nearby, but at this time of day the neighboring traffic lights created just enough gap they could safely jog across Jefferson without it. The restaurant Ananya was aiming for wasn’t much further. Only two tables were taken, but Ananya appeared pleased to find the place so dead.
“Summer really is better here,” she said. “Soon as the school year starts it’s going to be a madhouse.”
There were tables down the center and booths along the wall. Ananya requested the latter and put a gentle hand to Pat’s back. Jean noted the look they exchanged and assumed it was the reason Cody reached the booth first. Pat slid in beside them, and Ananya offered Jean a beatific smile as she took the spot across from Cody. Jean didn’t care who he sat next to, but he glanced toward Cody anyway. Cody appeared relaxed as they tugged napkins off the stand, so Jean sat without argument.
“Our treat, for indulging our company,” Ananya said. “Any allergies? No? We’ll get a bit of everything, then.”
Jean assumed she was exaggerating, but when the server came by to hand out glasses of water Ananya had a list of dishes to rattle off from memory. Jean understood very little of it, as only one or two names were in English, but Cody’s and Pat’s happy reactions to a few of the options said they were able to follow along. Jean wasn’t reassured, but it was too early to be concerned.
The three flitted from one topic to another in quick, light-hearted conversation. They left space for him to join in, slipping in a question here and there when he’d been silent for too long, but Jean was content to stay out of it wherever possible.
Peace lasted until the first dishes arrived, and the sight of fried dough had Jean leaning back in his seat. The others were quick to snatch them up. Ananya broke hers open to show him the inside, as if somehow the peas and potato filling would make up for the disastrous outside.
“It’s fried,” he said.
“It’s delicious,” Cody said as they dug in. “If you don’t want yours, can I have it?”
“Throw it away.”
“Absolutely not.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of more plates, and Jean watched with growing disapproval as unfamiliar dishes were laid out before him. There were chunks in bowls of sauce and cream, plates piled with rice and meat, and a small pile of bread slathered with an off-color spread. The smell of warm yeast and heavy spices settled over the table, and through it was the savory scents of meat and cheese.
Ananya rearranged the dishes with the ease of long practice, offering up names and spice levels as she put a new order to the madness. It wasn’t until she was done that Jean realized she’d separated the chicken and lamb dishes from the vegetarian ones. Even the latter were unsettling: what vegetables Jean could see were half-buried in gravies and dark broths. Jean didn’t know what to do with any of this, and he wasn’t sure he could trust her to walk him through it after she’d started off with a fried pastry.
“What do you want to start with?” Ananya asked him.
“Nothing,” Jean said. “None of this looks appropriate.”
“Appropriate,” Ananya echoed, offended. “In what way?”
Jean considered the simplest way to break it down and settled on Cat’s interpretation. “Macronutrients,” he said, and scowled as it came out more French than English. He tried again, sounding it out with painstaking care, and the blank look on Ananya’s face faded into understanding. “Raven meals are provided by the staff to ensure we—they—receive exactly what is needed to excel at practice. Cat is teaching me to make meals that match these numbers. I can’t account for this if I don’t know what it is.”