Had Tommy gone out the window and climbed to the roof? Had Ben imagined seeing him come into the room? Ben got strangely afraid, as though the rules were different in this room; because Tommy was known to do so many drugs, maybe the room itself was inducing an altered state of mind. Ben looked at the books on the room side of the bookshelf: Cat’s Cradle, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, The Tale of Genji.

Ben was about to leave when he thought to look in the closet. The couch was set across the closet opening, which a lot of kids did to maximize wall space and to leave a convenient place to set a bong out of sight. Tommy had hung a New Zealand flag over the closet opening, and Ben put a hand on the couch’s backrest and leaned over to pull the flag aside.

As he did, a hand grabbed him around the wrist and shoved his arm away. Ben let out an embarrassing whoop and sprang away.

“What the fuck?” Ben said.

“What the fuck, you?” The flag still hung flat. “What the fuck are you doing in my room when you can see I’m not here?”

Ben decided to be the kind of person who persists. He took off his backpack and set it on the floor. “Come out of the closet, Tommy.”

“I’m not here.”

“Seriously, Tommy. I’m not leaving, man.”

“Well, I’m not coming out, so you’re going to have to come in.”

“What?”

“Get your ass in here, before someone comes in and wonders what the hell you’re doing in my room. Stop flailing.”

Ben paused. Then he lifted his foot and was about to set it on the couch when Tommy said, “Are you stepping on the couch with your shoes on, man? Take that shit off.”

Ben took off his shoes, climbed on the couch and straddled the backrest, then hopped his weight over, getting half jammed in the opening and tangled in the flag.

“Jesus, what a flail.”

Ben pulled himself clear of the flag and looked around. There were no hanging clothes inside the closet, and all the walls had been painted dove-gray. Tommy sat on an armless stuffed chair at one end, looking up at Ben with hard eyes under his black hair. The space was lit by a short string of Christmas-tree lights stapled along the molding.

“Sit,” Tommy said.

Ben turned around and there was an identical chair behind him at the other end of the closet.

“Where do you put all your clothes?”

“Under the bed. Why hang when you can fold? Now sit.”

Ben sat.

“What do you want?” Tommy said.

“I want you to leave Ahmed alone.”

Tommy laughed. “No. Why do you even care?”