“It’s called a Hot Sweetie,” Deven says. Mani giggles at the silly name. “It’s good. Try it.” I take a sip—it tastes like extra-creamy hot chocolate spiced with cinnamon and cloves.
“Delicious,” I say. My voice is steady, but my hand is shaking so badly that some of the liquid sloshes out. A dark stain spreads over the white tablecloth, but if Deven notices, he doesn’t say anything. I glance over at Mani, who is happily slurping his drink, a thin film of chocolate coating the area above his upper lip.
“Don’t forget to eat,” Deven tells him. The food looks and smells amazing, but I can barely taste it as I chew. I keep staring at Deven’s drink. It’s over half gone, and if I don’t do something soon, I’ll miss my chance. My mind wanders to Iyla and something she told me once. “It’s easy to get boys to trust you,” she said. “You just have to use their best traits against them.” What is Deven’s best trait? And then I know. I pick up my cup and take a sip and then deliberately set it near the edge of the table. When Deven looks away, I nudge it with my elbow. It tumbles to the floor, splattering dark liquid all over the polished hardwood. Deven is on his feet in an instant.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, dabbing at the spill with my napkin. My cheeks are hot with deception.
“It’s okay,” Deven says. “I’ll go get you another one.” I have only a few seconds. I pull the vial from my pocket, yank out the stopper, and tip the container forward until a single pale drop falls into Deven’s cup. Then I replace the stopper and shove the vial back into my pocket. I glance at Mani, and his face sends a pang of regret through my chest. He’s looking at me like I’m a traitor, like I’ve just poisoned his friend. I put my arm around his shoulders and start to reassure him, but then Deven’s back and holding out a cup to me. I snap my mouth closed. Explaining will have to wait until later.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m sorry for being so clumsy.” I can feel Mani glaring at me.
“No problem,” Deven says. He keeps eating and chatting—asking Mani about what he’s been reading, peppering me with questions about my childhood that I have to answer with half-truths. I feel like I’m going to explode with tension and I want to pick up his drink and force it down his throat.
“Do you want more?” Deven asks.
I look up, startled. “What?”
“You’re staring at my drink. You can have the rest if you’d like.”
“No,” I say too emphatically. Deven raises an eyebrow. “Thanks,” I say, “but I think one is all I need. It’s awfully sweet.”
“You just have to build up a tolerance,” he says, and I wince at the wording. He tilts his head. “You know, for the sugar.” I laugh, but it comes out tight and forced. Of course I knew what he meant, but building up a tolerance is exactly what I’m trying to do for him—except for poison and not sweets. When he finally picks up his Hot Sweetie and drains it in one swallow, I can breathe again.
“So what have you been up to today?” I ask. Deven smiles and I realize it’s the first question I’ve asked, the first time I’ve engaged in the conversation at all, past distracted comments and brief answers.
“Just work,” he says. An image of Iyla kissing him pops into my mind.
“Work? That’s it?”
He plunks his cup down. “Yup. That’s why I was so happy to see you and Mani. I needed a break.” My stomach feels tight. Why is he lying to me? Why not just tell me that he spent the morning with his beautiful girlfriend? Who, no doubt, seemed astonished to see him, since she thought he’d be dead. But then again, why would he tell me anything? It’s not like he owes me an explanation—we’re just friends, if even that. He probably invited us to lunch only because he doesn’t think I take care of Mani very well. My eyes burn and I’m furious with myself for caring. He’s just a boy. A nice one, the kind who will invite you to lunch and hurry to replace your drink if you spill it. The kind you don’t want to kill. But also the kind who is in love with your only friend and doesn’t trust you enough to tell you about her.
Mani nudges my foot under the table and I realize I’ve been staring at Deven without saying anything for an inappropriate amount of time. I try to wipe my face clean of expression.
“I’m glad we could provide some relief from your busy day,” I say.
Deven reaches for my hand across the table and squeezes my fingers. “We should do it again sometime.” He holds my gaze and I don’t look away.
“We should,” Mani says, and both of us laugh at his enthusiasm. Deven walks us to the door, and my emotions are all tangled up. Part of me is upset that he didn’t tell me about Iyla, and the other part never wants to leave his side. Maybe those are the same thing. And then there’s the worry about the poison. Did I give him too much? Too little? Will it work?
“Thank you for lunch,” I say once we step outside.
Deven bites the inside of his cheek and wrinkles up his forehead. “Are you sure? You didn’t eat much.”