“Sure,” I said immediately, even as I glanced at the screen to see what time it was. We still had more than two hours before Mr. Campbell’s play, so we would have enough time to get there and back. I was pretty sure. “That would be great.”

Mateo promised to text Stevie the address to his dorm, and then cheerfully told us he’d see us soon.

She hung up and I looked at her, happy and surprised. “Oh my god.”

“I know.” She nodded. “Bullet dodged.”

“He seemed… nice,” I ventured, still trying to square the guy on the other end of the phone with the one Stevie had described to me. Before she could reply, the super’s door swung open.

Cary emerged from the basement unit. He was still wearing jeans, but they looked different from the skinny jeans he’d had on before, and he was wearing a tan leather bomber jacket, zipped up, and a messenger bag. It was a look that reminded me of something, but I wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. “Everything okay?” he asked. He looked from me to Stevie as he locked the super’s apartment behind him.

I nodded. “We think Stevie’s stepbrother might have an extra set of keys. We’re going to Columbia to get them.”

Cary smiled, looking relieved. “That’s great news. So sorry that this derailed your night.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said, smiling back at him.

Stevie cleared her throat. “But just in case—could you still let me know when your uncle gets back?”

“Absolutely,” Cary said. Brad leapt to his feet and shook himself all over, a shake that moved over his body like a wave, starting at his head and moving back toward his tail. He bent down to pat Brad. “You be good, pal, okay? Oh,” he said, straightening up, “you have to watch this one around rollerbladers.”

“Around what now?” Stevie asked.

Cary nodded. “Yeah, he’s good with everything else, but for some reason, rollerbladers freak him out.”

“Maybe he’s fed up with all these nineties trends coming back,” I suggested, and Cary laughed.

“I hadn’t considered that. But just watch out for people on wheels, and you should be fine with him.”

“All right,” Stevie said as she looked up toward the fifth floor. She squared her shoulders, like she was preparing herself. “I just need my shoes, and then we’ll head out.”

“I’ll go,” I said, turning to the staircase.

“I’ve got them,” Cary said. And before we could protest, he dropped his messenger bag and jogged up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and disappearing from view.