I turned to Stevie and gave her a spontaneous hug, squeezing her tight.
“What?” she asked, even as she hugged me back.
“New York!” I said, gesturing to everything around us, not caring if it made me look like a tourist. “We’re here!” I felt like doing a spin—if I’d had a hat, I might well have thrown it into the air. I strode forward, full of confidence, and stepped off the curb, putting my hand out. “Taxi!” I yelled, even though I knew real New Yorkers didn’t actually do this.
“Taxi line’s back there,” a passing woman in a suit said without stopping, nodding toward the corner. I could now see that there was a line of people with suitcases and a sign that read TAXIS.
“Thanks,” I called after her, but she’d already crossed the street and was out of earshot.
“We can just take the subway,” Stevie said as she got into the taxi line and I hurried over to join her.
“It’s more fun this way,” I insisted. And it was—as long as we made it to Mr. Campbell’s play with more than enough time to spare, having a mini adventure—even if it was only to return a lost wallet—sounded good to me.
“But will they take the hundred, though? Don’t people hate to change them?”
“I think they have to,” I said with confidence as we moved up a step. “It’s currency, after all. It won’t be a problem.”
* * *
“No hundreds,” the cabdriver said, shaking his head and pushing the bill back through the plexiglass partition.
We had arrived at Mallory’s. It hadn’t taken long—Murray Hill was a few blocks from Grand Central—but traffic had been almost bumper to bumper. Our fare came to eight dollars, and the driver sighed audibly when he saw what I was trying to pay him with.
“Don’t you have to take it?” I asked, trying to remember where I’d heard this. “Because it’s, you know, legal tender?”
“Read the sign,” he said. I looked all over the back of the seat in front of me and saw Stevie doing it too. She spotted it before I did, and tapped on it—NO BILLS LARGER THAN $20 ACCEPTED.
“Oh,” Stevie said. “Sorry.” She reached for her clutch and I took back the C-note.
“I have some cash in there,” I said, nodding toward her clutch. “Or I have my card—wait.” I shook my head. “I can’t use that, because it’s linked to my parents’.”
“I can use my card,” Stevie said, pulling it out. “It’s tied to my dad’s, but he expects me to be in the city.” She paid using her card, and after a whispered consultation, we decided to give the driver a 15 percent tip. We told him we didn’t need a receipt, and then got out and slammed the door. He sped away, and I looked up at the row of apartment buildings in front of us.
I had been expecting more like a high-rise building with a doorman, the kind that I knew Stevie’s dad had moved to. But these were redbrick buildings in a row next to each other, with moldings at the top, only about four or five stories high. It was quieter on this street—not as many cars rushing past, fewer people.
The entrance to the building was down three steps behind a wrought-iron black gate, with a call box mounted to the wall outside the black-painted door. “Do we have a key for the outside?” I asked, realizing that Mallory hadn’t said anything about that—just about Brad, who I wasn’t thrilled to meet, because he sounded pretty troubled, honestly.
Stevie pulled the keys out of her clutch. There were two on the ring, along with a number of brightly colored membership fobs. “I guess we try them?”
The first key didn’t work, but the second one did, and Stevie pulled open the door, holding it for me. The lobby was small—the mailboxes and a small noticeboard took up almost all the space. I could see steps leading down to the basement unit, with SUPERINTENDENT on a sign attached to the door. There did not seem to be an elevator anywhere. “Which number is she?”
Stevie pulled out her phone again. “Five B,” she said, and shook her head. “She’s really not making any of this easy, is she?”
“I guess that explains why she gave us a hundred.”
“Speaking of, want me to hold it for you?” Stevie asked as she started climbing the stairs. I followed behind her, secretly glad that I’d worn flats tonight, even though I wasn’t about to share that with her. She glanced over her shoulder at me as she rounded the first story. “Just… in case.”
“I can be trusted to hold on to a hundred dollars,” I protested, trying to figure out if I was annoyed by this or not.
“I know,” Stevie said quickly. “I was just… putting it out there.”
“What should we do with it? Go crazy at the Drama Book Shop?”
Stevie laughed, sounding slightly out of breath. “We’re really lucking out tonight,” she said. “Dinner’s on my dad, Mallory gives us a hundred.…”
“We could bring Teri back a thank-you,” I suggested. “Do you think that Mallory will mention to your dad that she saw me with you?” I knew that Stevie’s dad wasn’t as on top of her whereabouts as my parents were with me, but the fact remained—you always had to think about the trail.
“I doubt it,” she said, pausing and leaning on the railing for just a moment before starting to climb again. “And I could always say that you came in with me and then I met my mom later. I think we’re fine.”
By the time we reached the fifth floor, we were both out of breath, and I was resolving to start doing more cardio, because this was embarrassing.
“Should we start running or something?” Stevie asked, turning to me, brushing her hair back, and I smiled.
“I was just thinking that,” I said. “Ooh! We could use the hundred dollars to buy some spin classes.”
“We’ve got big plans for this hundred,” Stevie said, raising an eyebrow at me as she pulled out the keys again. She started to turn the key in the lock when I thought of something.
“Wait! Should we knock first, do you think?”
“Why? Mallory gave us the keys.”
“What if that Brad guy is in there? I don’t want to startle him or whatever.”
“You’d think he could have come and gotten the wallet.”
“Seriously.” She nodded at me and I knocked on the door. We both listened, but I couldn’t hear the sound of anyone coming, and after a minute, I shrugged. “Maybe he’s out.”
Stevie turned the key in the lock and stepped inside, and I followed behind her. It was dark, and I hit the light that was right by the door and looked around. We had walked into the living area—the small kitchen was in front of us, and to the side, a couch and two chairs were positioned in front of the television. Down a hallway, I could see three doors, one cracked open, presumably the bedrooms and bathroom. It was small, and I knew New York apartments were, in theory, but it was something else seeing one up close. Compared to this, Teri’s guesthouse was a mansion.
“It’s so small,” I whispered to Stevie.
“I know,” she whispered back. “My dad’s is a little bigger, but not that much.”