JAKE SHOWS up in about an hour. I guess that at 10 p.m., the traffic from Brooklyn to here isn't that bad. He parks his motorcycle in the lot down the block and shows up downstairs in my lobby. Frank, the security guard, raises an eyebrow when I go down to meet my friend. I don't know if it's Jake's ripped jeans and ratty old t-shirt or if it's because I'm in my pajamas, but I feel like no good can come out of lingering in the lobby for too long. I drag Jake into the elevator while Frank was chatting on the phone with Mrs. Smith on the fourth floor about her water pressure. I hope that no one got a good look at us.

"The last thing I need would be Frank snitching to my mom or my Aunt that I have a boy over," I hiss at Jake as the elevator rumbles to life. This building is old; the elevator has one of those gates that pull shut like the Titanic.

"Your mom doesn't know I'm coming over?" Jake demands.

"No, she doesn't live here."

"You live by yourself? In an Upper West Side Apartment? What is this, Gossip Girl?"

"No, the apartment belongs to my Aunt. After her divorce, she's been traveling around Venice with some of her girlfriends. She used to live here with her husband. She sold everything after he left because she was planning to rent out the place. My grandparents live on the third floor, so it's not like I'm completely alone. I try not to bother them. My grandma has heart problems, and she throws a fit whenever I disturb her naps." I lower my voice down to a whisper as we pass the third floor. "She naps all the freaking time."

"That's cool," Jake mutters and runs his fingers through his dark hair like he isn't sure how to respond to my long-winded story. "My mom left my dad, so I'm home alone all the time too."

"What's that?" I ask as we step into the lights of the sixth-floor hallway. As Jake turns around to search for my apartment door, I notice that he has a shiner on his left eye. He lets his hair fall into his eyes and tries to keep me from staring.

"Fight Club," Jake replies with a smirk. "Are we here to talk about your computer problems or about me?"

"Is that why you haven't been in school this week? Because you got into a fight with your dad? What? You afraid the teachers are going to call Child Protective Services?"

"Wow, you just made a whole lot of assumptions there," Jake whistles. "Are you writing your next great masterpiece based on my life?"

"Of course, bad boys from broken homes are trending this year," I reply sarcastically. "No, really, tell me. I've told you all my secrets."

"Fat chance."

"Tell me, or I'll make something up in my head. I bet you got that black eye fighting over a girl. Who is she? Is she pretty?"

Jake rolls his eyes as I open the front door to my bare apartment. The apartment is entirely unfurnished. Besides an inflatable air mattress, the only other piece of furniture is a plastic crate that I use as a desk for my laptop. I'm momentarily embarrassed that there's a styrofoam box of chow mien and two hot sauce stained chopsticks on the kitchen counter.

"I can't believe a girl lives like this," Jake says and wrinkles his nose. He goes around, inspecting my kitchen as it's the only thing to see in my apartment. Before I can stop him, he starts to wash the glasses in my sink and put them in the dishwasher. "You should wash these before they dry out. It's gross."

"Wow, you are worse than my mom!" I say with an exasperated sigh. "She usually comes by after work and does my dishes and laundry. Why would I do it when she'll be here in the morning?"

"I know this doesn't mean much coming from me, but you are pretty spoiled, Queens." Jake dries his hands off and steals a chocolate chip cookie from the bag of pepperidge farm cookies that I have on my counter. I don't remember offering him one. I'm about to slap his hand away as he reaches for another one when I remember that I need him to fix my computer. Two cookies are hardly too much of an asking price.

"I'm busy, okay!" I retort. "I got to a very competitive school, and I barely have enough time for my hobbies or friends. I haven't written a single thing since school started. What do you know? You cut school all week to streetfight."

"It wasn't a streetfight, okay?" Jake retorts. "There were some idiots causing trouble at my cousin's coffee shop. They were harassing one of the waitresses, so I told them to move along. They jumped me outside, and we had a little bit of a hostile exchange."

"Oh?" I ask and study my nails to act as though the real story bored me. I was hoping for something juicier than a bar fight. "I hope the other guys learned his lesson."

"Yeah, I have a jar of his teeth at home now."

"What?"

"I'm just kidding," Jake says and throws his hands up. "Okay, let's go look at your computer."