Anyway, Mr. McGill's apartment is nice. Kind of small, but nice. There are two bedrooms, one of which is for Stacey to use whenever she visits. The living room has brick walls and a fireplace, which I thought was pretty cool.

"You can stay in my room, with me," said Stacey. "I have a futon that unrolls into an extra bed." She showed me her room, and I stuck my overnight bag in a corner. Then I just stood for a moment with my hands in my pockets. I was feeling strange and out of place.

Stoneybrook is so small and quiet, and New York is so big and noisy. I was kind of overwhelmed.

"How about a soda?" asked Stacey. "We can relax for a few minutes before you have to

go."

"Great," I said. I checked myself in the mirror that hung behind her door. "I don't think I'll change. Quint's family is pretty informal."

"You look fine," she assured me.

I smoothed my hair and followed her into the kitchen. We had sodas and talked to Mr. McGill for a little while, and then it was time for me to leave.

Stacey walked me downstairs and to the corner. "I'll get you a cab and give him Quint's address," she said. "When you get there, you pay him what it says on the meter, plus a tip, like fifteen percent."

I panicked. "How do I figure it out?" I asked.

"I usually just figure out what ten percent would be, like ten cents if it's a dollar. Then I add half again that much. So, like, another five cents would make fifteen cents, which is fifteen percent of a dollar. Get it?"

Math isn't my strongest subject, but I got the idea. I nodded.

"Then, when you're ready to leave, Quint

can put you in a cab back here. If you call me first I'll be waiting outside for you. Oh! There's a cab!" Stacey threw her arm up, and a cab veered out of the stream of traffic and stopped beside us. I was impressed. Stacey is so cool, she's chilly. (That's what my friends and I call anything that’s mega-cool.)