The only thing of any value they’d managed to overlook besides the furniture was our weed stash, which Sam hid inside a tea tin in the kitchen.

I figured they’d come in through the window in Sam’s room, the one with the fire escape. The window was locked, but I tried pulling on it and found it popped open with enough force. It made me feel shaky—they could come back at any time.

I called the local police station.

“My place was robbed?” I said.

“Is that a question?” I already didn’t like the cop on the other end of the line.

“No, it was robbed. We’re missing stuff.”

“Where do you live?”

I gave him my address, and heard him grunt. “We’ve had calls from that building before,” he said. “No cameras, no doormen. What do you want us to do? Did anyone see anything?”

“I don’t think so, I just got back and found a lot of my roommate’s stuff gone.”

“Only your roommate’s stuff?”

I felt strange telling a cop about the wad of cash I kept under my mattress. I hadn’t reported my income in years—what if he asked where it came from?

“I, uh, don’t have a lot of stuff.”

“Where is your roommate?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t call your roommate?” the cop was making me feel worse, like I’d done something wrong. Why hadn’t I thought to call Sam first? I rarely knew where she was. I thought we might be friends when I moved in but it was like we lived in parallel universes; they overlapped only occasionally, randomly. In truth, I hardly knew the girl at all. Like Lonnie, I was more familiar with her things than her person.

“Are you sure your roommate didn’t just take her stuff somewhere, have you spoken with her?”

I understood this cop had no intention of writing up a report.

“No,” I said. “I guess I’ll call you after I get ahold of her?”

“I guess so,” he said, hanging up on me.

I dialed Sam’s number then, but she didn’t answer. I felt too shaky and panicked to leave a message. I didn’t know what else to do, so I left, thinking I’d pick up beer at the corner store. Halfway down the block I realized I had no cash for beer, either in my wallet or at home, but I kept walking anyway, surrounded by the dusk sounds of church bells and Arabic prayers sung over loudspeakers, smells of thrown-out saltfish. I felt like everyone was looking at me, though I told myself I was being crazy. A group of teenagers on a stoop yelled, “Hey, Courtney! Hey, Kelly!” as I passed.