A few days later, Tina is racing around the apartment in a blur of nerves and caffeine deprivation. Her bedroom looks like a small explosion has gone off.

Two blouses are draped over the bed. A pair of heels lies overturned on the floor. Her laptop bag hangs from the doorknob, half-zipped and threatening to spill scripts and notebooks at any moment.

Tina hops on one foot as she slides on her black heels, then grabs her blazer and hurries into the living room. “Have you seen my keys?” she calls out, already crouching beside the armchair. She lifts one cushion, then another.

On the sofa, Shane McCutcheon sits in a pair of worn sweatpants and a faded tank top, eating a giant bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch while staring intently at the television.

Without looking away, Shane shakes her head. “Nope.”

Tina drops to her knees and checks beneath the chair.

Shane pauses mid-bite. “Wait…” She squints thoughtfully. “You mean your scooter keys or your car keys?”

Tina rolls her eyes as she continues searching. “Car. And they’re one and the same because it’s the same key ring.”

Shane chuckles. “I told you that was a bad idea.”

Tina rises with a frustrated sigh, planting her hands on her hips. “As opposed to eating three bowls of cereal in one sitting?” She nods toward the half-gallon of milk and family-sized box of cereal occupying most of the coffee table.

Shane takes another spoonful. “Show me a person who can eat just one bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and I’ll show you an anal sociopath.”

Tina laughs despite herself and starts tossing cushions off the sofa. When she reaches Shane’s side, she nudges her with her hip. “Move.”

Shane sighs theatrically and stands.

Tina lifts the cushion, and her eyes light up. “Yes!” She snatches up the keys and holds them triumphantly in the air. “Finally.”

Shane smiles and drops back onto the couch. “Congrats.”

Tina grabs her purse from the coffee table and heads toward the door. “See ya later.”

“Yep,” Shane says absently, never taking her eyes off the television.

***

Outside, Tina crosses the apartment parking lot, adjusting the strap of her bag. She passes her moped and stares at the once-pristine scooter that now bears a deep scratch along the side, and the front wheel still leans slightly to the left from its humiliating collision with the bike rack on campus.