Having managed to get the door open, Jessica dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and looked around the room with a quiet satisfaction. The apartment wasn’t very fancy, but it was hers. When she first moved in, she had gone on a cleaning rampage, scouring out the baked-in dirt that must have been lining the baseboards since the building went up some fifty years ago. It had taken almost two weeks of nothing but scrubbing between classes and homework, and she went to bed every night with sore arms, as though she’d done nothing but weight training. But now the apartment was clean enough for Jessica—albeit just barely—which was no small bar to clear.

She began taking things out of the grocery bags, lining everything up on the counter before putting each item away. “Peanut butter, bread, milk, bananas …” she muttered to herself, then fell silent.

Something is wrong. She looked around the room carefully, but there was no one there and everything seemed to be where she’d last left it. She returned to the grocery bags.

As she closed the refrigerator door the hair at the back of her neck prickled. Jessica whirled around as though expecting to catch a burglar in the act, her heart jolting with adrenaline, but the room was still. Just to be sure, she went to check the door: it was locked, as expected. She stood in silence for a moment, listening to the distant sounds of her apartment complex—the hum of an air-conditioning unit outside, a leaf blower across the street—but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She stepped carefully back to the counter and finished putting away the groceries, then headed to her bedroom. She turned the corner to the hallway and screamed: a figure stood in the dark, blocking the way.

“Jessica?” said a familiar voice, and Jessica reached hastily for the light switch, tensed to run. The light flickered on slowly: it was Charlie.

“Did I scare you?” Charlie said uncertainly. “Sorry. The door was unlocked—I should have waited outside,” she added, looking down at her shoes. “I just figured since we used to be roomies anyway …”

“Charlie, you scared me to death,” Jessica said in a mock-scolding tone. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I’m having dinner with John?” Charlie said, and Jessica nodded. “Could I borrow something to wear? Maybe you could help me pick something out?” Charlie looked hesitant, like she was asking an immense favor, and Jessica gave her a puzzled frown.

“Yeah, sure, of course.” Jessica tried to calm herself. “But, Charlie—it’s not like you need my help choosing an outfit these days.” Jessica gestured at Charlie’s clothing: she was wearing her habitual combat boots—or a more elegant version of them—but she had paired them with a medium-length black skirt and a dark red, scoop-necked blouse. Charlie shrugged and shifted her feet.