The guy nodded. “Gotcha. I’m really sorry about this.…” He ran his hand through his hair, and it stuck up even farther. It was maybe even thicker than Stevie’s, and shining with faint highlights under the fluorescent hallway lights.

“It’s not your fault,” Stevie said.

“Not at all,” I murmured, looking at her, and understanding that she wanted to have a talk so that we could figure out what we were going to do now. “Can you—give us just a second?”

“Sure,” he said easily. “I actually have some treats in here, if I can give them to Brad?” He looked from me to Stevie, like we had any say over Brad’s diet.

“It’s fine with me,” I said, and he gave me a quick smile as he backed into the apartment, taking the dog with him.

“Oh my god,” Stevie said, staring at me, her eyes wide. “We’re locked out, and we have a Pomeranian.”

“It’s not ideal,” I acknowledged.

“What are we supposed to do? Our train tickets home are in there, my money, your money, our IDs, my car keys.…” Stevie shook her head. “Why couldn’t you have brought your own bag?”

I drew back at her tone. “How is this my fault? She’s your sister—”

“She’s not my sister—”

“Fine, stepsister, sorry. But what does my bag have to do with anything?”

“Because maybe if you hadn’t made me carry all your stuff, at least one of our bags would still be on the right side of the door.”

“Or both of them would be gone. And I asked if I could put my stuff in your bag. I didn’t make you. If you didn’t want me to, you should have told me no!” My voice had risen, and it bounced off the wall of the lobby. Stevie took a breath, like she was going to say something, then just shook her head.

“Sorry,” she said, running a hand over her face. “This just…”

“It’s okay,” I said quickly, wanting to put this behind us. “Let’s regroup. What do you have on you?”

“My phone,” Stevie said, holding it up. “Thank god.”

“Seriously.”

“Um…” She dug in her coat pockets. “The MetroCard, nineteen dollars and thirty-seven cents, and half a pack of gum.” She looked up at me and held it out. “Gum?”

“Thanks,” I said, taking a piece, despite the fact that Stevie only ever chewed bubble-gum-flavored gum, like we were still in elementary school. “Okay, so we have a little bit of cash, we have your phone.…” I reached into my right coat pocket and pulled out three quarters and a dime. “Eighty-five cents…” I reached into my other pocket, and when I realized what I had, I smiled.

“What?”