“Oh no, wait,” I said, suddenly remembering. With all the snacks and talk of moral philosophers, I’d forgotten that he needed to be updated on the current state of play. “Stevie’s phone… got broken.” I shook my head angrily, thinking about how all of this—our fight, Stevie leaving me behind and going back home—might not be happening if she hadn’t tried to grab her phone back from me.

“Oh no.”

“Yeah, it fell on the subway tracks… and then the subway kind of ran over it. So, to make a long story short…”

“Too late.”

I smiled at that; I’d seen Clue way too many times to be offended. “Nicely done. Anyway, Stevie doesn’t have a working phone. But she’s going to get the keys from her stepbrother, so she’ll be able to get back in on her own anyway.”

“Gotcha.” Cary walked over to a moped—or was it a Vespa? It wasn’t a full-fledged motorcycle, at any rate—that was wedged in between two cars on the street. He took keys from his pocket, unlocked the compartment over the back wheel, and took out a helmet.

“Nice ride,” I said, looking at it, a little surprised. Cary seemed like he was around my age, but then certain things—like riding a motor scooter around New York City—made him seem suddenly older, and like he was living a life outside of anything I’d experienced.

“Beats the subway,” he said with a grin as he pulled the helmet on.

“I bet.” I waved with my free hand. “See you around.” I turned and headed up the street. A moment later, Cary was standing in front of me—a little out of breath, as if he’d run around to be there. “Hey,” he said, glancing at his phone. “Listen. You still have a while before you have to be at the theater, right? When’s the show?”

“Eight,” I said slowly. “Why?”

“Well,” Cary said, “I mean, you could walk all the way up there and then… just wait around for two hours.” He arched an eyebrow. “Or.”

I laughed at his expression. “Or what?”

“Or you could hang out with me while I make deliveries, and then I’ll drive you right to the theater in plenty of time.” He gave me a hopeful, nervous smile.

“Oh,” I said, mostly to give myself some stalling time. Riding around on a scooter sounded like fun—and better than killing time in a pizza place or something that might not even sell me pizza because my bill was too big. But I had to keep my eye on the prize. I had to get to the theater in plenty of time. I didn’t want to be running in late. But I also didn’t want to be hanging around the theater in the cold for hours like a stalker.…

“What do you say?”