7. 

"Hey, Will," says Lilah Tov, strolling right on up to my green armchair. She takes a seat on the armrest and amicably smiles at Raj, but then her attention snaps back to me. "My shift ends at noon. Let's take a walk then."

"No," I say automatically, not even processing my rudeness. "I mean, I don't think that's the best idea."

"Great! So we'll go at noon," Lilah affirms, smiling cheerfully and then walking back over to behind the counter.

I mentally begin plotting my escape so I don't have to face a noontime walk with Lilah Tov, but then Raj says, "William, may I ask for your advice on something?"

"Sure, Raj," I sigh.

"It's about Lilah."

Of course it is. Everything's about Lilah. Everything is always about Lilah. But Raj doesn't need to hear that. What he needs to hear is, "Go on."

"We went on a date."

"Oh? Where'd you take her?"

"To a Vietnamese restaurant in the Square."

"The new one?"

"Yes."

"Any good?"

"I thought it was excellent."

"So I should check it out?"

"Yes, but flooding the restaurant with glowing reviews on Yelp isn't the issue here, William."

"Then what is the issue, Raj?"

"Lilah is the issue."

"What about her?"

"Well, I don't think the date went very well, honestly."

"Why not?"

"She lived in India, William."

"So?"

"So, that completely undermines my exotic appeal. In my experience, most girls are only interested in me because I'm not American and have a unique accent. But she wasn't at all charmed my Indianness. On the contrary, she was more interested in me as a person, rather than an Indian."

"Excuse my ignorance, but isn't it a good thing that she was able to look past your surface identity?"

"You're misunderstanding, William. My 'surface identity' is the most interesting bit about me. I couldn't interest her in stories about India, because she already knew about the country, and had essentially written me off as an ABCD—"

"Again, sorry about the ignorance, but what's an ABCD?" I interrupt.

"American-Born Confused Desi—it's what you call an Indian who was born in the US and has fully assimilated, disregarding their Indian roots. I'm not an ABCD, though I did attend an American school in India."

"So then why would she think you are one?"

"Because I'm relatively entitled and have adapted well enough to American culture."

"Ahhhhh."

"So you understand my problem?"

"No."

"Since she understands the Indian portion of my identity, all that is left, William, is my deep fascination with computer science. After we glossed over the topic of India, I spent the remainder of the date spewing out information about binary and code, William. It was bad."

"I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you think, Raj."

"How can you say that? She's a gorgeous, interesting, American girl, and I'm just a computer geek."

"She likes people who are passionate," I tell him, "which is one of the reasons that we didn't work out. If she sees that you're passionate about something—no matter what that something is—then chances are she'll be interested."

"Really?"

"Yes. Now, is that all the advice you need?"

"No. She agreed to go out on another date with me."

"That's great. What's the problem?"

"I don't know where to take her."

"Well, that's easy. Take her to a bar."

"Would you come along?"

"Absolutely not."

"You could bring Ellie."

"No, Raj."

"Please? It'd make me so much less nervous."

"No."

"Well, Lilah's going to ask you the same thing on her break."

"What?" I exclaim, but it's too late. Raj has already put his headphones on and is back to intently staring at his laptop screen. His hands fly over the keyboard as I resume waiting for my imminent doom.

My doom comes at noon. A girl with a black-hole-colored hair comes bobbing right on up to me. "Ready?" she wonders.

I'm not ready, but I'm sucker for courtesy, so I say, "Fine," and sling my messenger bag over a shoulder as I stand up. I give Raj a halfhearted wave, even though he's too invested in his typing to notice. Then I follow Lilah Tov out of the institution and into the nearly-spring air.

There are still hills of snow on the ground, but by the way they glisten in the sun, there's no way they stand a chance against the impending change in seasons. Lilah and I begin to walk, stride by stride, headed in the direction of the Square.

"So I went on a date with Raj," Lilah finally blurts out, unable to keep up the charade of tense silence.

"He told me," I say evenly.

"He's cute," she says.

"You should let him know that."

"Nah, I'm not really the type of inflate male egos. Society does enough of that already."

I don't say anything. I don't want to say anything. I don't have anything to say.

"So he's cute," she goes on, "and he's Indian—privileged as all hell, but still Indian, and he's into comp sci, which means he has a brain. I don't think I like him, but I think I could like sleeping with him."

"Great." It's not great. It's far from great, actually.

"That's where you come in, Will. I need your help to sleep with Raj."

"Pardon?" There's no way I'm hearing things right. There must be some disconnect between my ears and my brain.

"I want you to my wingman."

"You want me to be your wingman?"

"Yes. Come out with us, lessen the awkwardness, and just nudge Raj in the right direction."

"And why would I do that?"

"You kinda owe me for the whole V-card thing."

"Excuse me?"

"Seriously, Will, that was quite possibly the worst sex I've ever had."

"It was one time! I got better!" I honestly can't believe I'm sexual prowess to her right now.

"Help me sleep with Raj, and you can make it up to me. Do you still have my number?"

"Uh, yeah, probably," I admit.

"Well, I don't have that number anymore, so text this one instead." She takes out a pen and begins scrawling a number on my hand, without my permission. Ink is such a pain to wash off. "Saturday night. Wear something snazzy. See ya, Will," says the girl, diverging from our linear path. I watch her walk away and then stare down at my hand. Saturday night will not be over soon enough.