Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

So apparently she didn’t mind me coming.

She gestured us in. “Drinks are in the kitchen, and people are mostly in the living room. We might have to do a beer run at some point, but so far we’re looking good.”

For the first hour we drank rum flavored with Coke. Everyone sat around, squished on sofas and curled up on the floor, eating finger food and destroying Nita’s alcohol collection. Eventually, one of the people—there were a lot of people—asked, “Can you get to the rooftop?”

Nita frowned and peered at her window. “I think so.”

So then we all grabbed beer and clamored out the kitchen window onto the roof/deck where they kept potted plants and bikes and things. A fire escape crawled up the building’s wall, a rickety, rusting metal structure that looked ready to fall apart any second. We had to walk along a little ledge to get to it, and then we scampered up the skinny steps. I tried not to look down at the slatted planks beneath my feet, but I could feel the nerves gathered in my palms and soles of my feet. With one hand around my drink, I had even less control then I normally would’ve, but I refused to slow down and let anyone see how scared I was.

Then I was at the top, and the kid in front of me took my drink so I could haul myself onto the roof. White chalk covered my hands and part of my dress, and as I stood upright my legs felt wobbly with relief that the fire escape hadn’t collapsed and plunged us to our deaths.

I laughed, the endorphins from released fear now pumping through me, and took my drink back from the hipster holding it. Sabeen was already over at the edge of the roof, so I headed toward her, taking in the sight of the roof and the city. Behind me, we could see the Midtown skyline, while before me there wasn’t much, just the other flat roofs of the East Villages with their squat chimneys.

The roof itself was more interesting; at least three different groups gathered from different apartments. But then it was a nice night, the air cool but the breeze warm, and scented with greenery instead of the general stench of the city.

One of the guys from another group wandered over and asked if we had a light, which was clearly just an icebreaker, because when we said no, he plopped down next to us anyway. I leaned against Sabeen and laughed. The adrenaline fro

m the climb and height and the fuzziness from the drinks made the night seem endless and filled with possibilities. I could be anything on this roof, because Tamar wouldn’t be up here in the first place. She’d be down on the ground, too scared to climb up.

I lifted my head and stared at the moon.

Somehow, by the time I looked down, the topic had wandered to celebrity encounters, as recalled through the humblebrag. “I saw Patrick Stewart at the co-op,” Shari, one of Nita’s friends, announced. “I mean, it wasn’t a big deal or anything.”

Alli, one of the other girls, jumped in next. “Oh, and they’re always filming Law and Order outside my office building. It’s so annoying, they block off all this space. And the tourists are the worst—they clump around and cause a traffic jam.”

I didn’t even catch the name of the guy who now piped up, but it didn’t hamper my amusement. “I know, right? The mayor always gets coffee at my café, and while the regulars couldn’t care less, sometimes out-of-towners just overrun the place.” He let out a beleaguered sigh. “Sometimes they don’t even buy anything.”

I bit back a smile. This sounded remarkably similar to the way friends in L.A. talked about celebrities—like they saw them all the time, but whatever.

“I haven’t see a single celebrity since I moved here,” Sabeen said grumpily. She flicked some ash past me. “What about you?”

“Oh.” I shrugged, unable to ignore the cackling imp that danced inside me. “I don’t know. Last week I got drinks with Abraham Krasner. He’s—”

“The Leopard’s center,” several voices finished.

“How did that happen?”

I laughed. “It’s actually not fair for me to use that as a celebrity sighting. We grew up together.”

That took a moment to sink through the alcoholic fog. “Wait, so—you know each other? You’re friends?”

I nodded happily. “Uh-huh.”

And then, before I knew it, my new friends had snatched up my purse and were scrambling through it. I jumped to my feet, throwing a frantic look at Sabeen. She shrugged unrepentantly and finished off her cheap beer.

“Guys, give it back.” I stretched out my hand. Alli fished out my phone and then flung my purse at me. Not a very smart move, because it was still open. Several pens and a hair clip spilled out when it hit the roof, and I had to run around picking them up before I could refocus on my phone. They were all covered with white chalk.

“‘Abraham’.” Alli grinned. “Ohmygod, he’s in your phone.”

“Don’t.” I considered launching myself at her, tackling her to the ground and wrestling my phone away, but I honestly couldn’t see that ending well.

And now it was too late. She held the phone up and waited. “Hi! Is this Abe Krasner?”

There was a pause, and then she laughed. “This is her friend Alli. We’re at a party. You should come.”

Right. Because the one thing I needed in life was for Abe to think I was trying to lure him to hang out with me. Or that I was so middle school I needed to get my friends to ask him to come over. “Alli, give it back.”

“We’re in the East Village. Near East 4th and 1st Ave.” She rattled off the apartment’s address. “We’re on the roof.”