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 from 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 cafe, 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."

I wanted to ream her out, but I barely knew her and didn't want this to get any more out of hand then it already was. Instead, I stuck my hand out once more, and this time, she passed my cell over.

I pressed it to my ear and walked away from the group. "Abe. I am so sorry. Don't listen to her."

"You're on a rooftop?" His voice sounded a little tinny. "You're afraid of heights."

I let out a huff of laughter. "And yet!"

"Are you drunk on a rooftop?"

I edged a little closer to the drop, wondering how near I could get before my feet started tingling. About two feet, as it turned out, and the pinpricks ramped into gear. I shuffled my feet three inches forward, which felt much like shoving through molasses, and the tingles ran up my calves and kicked my heart into double-time. "Logically, I can see how that sounds like a bad idea, but in reality, it's just fine." I edged backward until the tingles went away and my chest expanded. I sucked in deep breaths and shuddered slightly. "It's not like I'm going to topple over."

"Okay, I should be there in twenty minutes."

"Abraham. No. I didn't mean for them to call you. You don't have to come."

"Don't fall off the roof before I get there." He signed off.

I wandered back to the group. "Now, why did you have to do that?"

Alli looked up. "Is he coming?"

"No."

Twenty minutes later, a trio went out for more beer, and when they came back they brought Abe with them.

I didn't notice until the attention swiveled, since I was having an extremely intense conversation on foreign affairs with a guy with thickly framed glasses. But when people made loud, alcohol-fueled noises, both of us looked toward the fire escape.

Abraham jumped up onto the roof with the grace only those with immense strength could muster. His arms swung easily, his hair looked a little mussed, and his gaze swept the rooftop, searching for me. I bit my lip, not sure if I should jump and wave or wait.

Then I saw him see me, if the brightness of recognition was any indicator. He strode toward me without any hesitation, like he couldn't even see anything else, like I was the ultimate destination, and stopped only a foot away.

It was hard to keep my old feelings in check with my inhibitions loosened. I was positive my pupils were dilated and my heart racing, so I overcompensated in the other direction by speaking harshly. "What are you doing here?"

Confusion tinged his gaze. "I was invited."

As though to drive the point home, one of Nita's friends came over and sloppily slapped Abe on the back. "Krasner, my man!"

Abe tossed me a look that said See? before gripping the guy's palm and shaking it firmly. In a moment they were laughing like old friends, but just before the others worked up the nerve to creep over, he excused himself with a nod my way. Then he positioned himself in front of me, with his back to the rest of the roof. He was so broad and stood so close that it was almost like we were in our own little private bubble.

Too private. I wanted to kiss him, and only the smallest corner of my mind, the one that kept chanting he's not interested kept me from reaching out. Again, I tried to push him back verbally. "You didn't have to come."

He smiled wryly and folded his legs gracefully to the ground. "Yeah, but what would I tell our parents? You've been in New York for two seconds and already fell off a roof?"

I laughed, but still shook my head as I followed his lead and sat. "You don't have to worry about me."

"That doesn't mean I can't watch out for you."

I raised a brow. "And who watches out for you?"

His smile deepened in the corners of his mouth. "Fifty-two other guys. We all watch out for each other."

I drew my knees up to my chest and rested my chin on them. "You're a good person, Abraham."

His eyes crinkled at the corners like they did whenever he smiled deeply. "You have to think that. You're family."

For some reason-the alcohol, no doubt-that made tears prick at my eyes. Family. If that was true, why hadn't I spoken to him for four years? Why did it still hurt so much that he thought of me as a sister?

Abe had always been able to read emotions, and he skipped topics as easily as the winds changed. "So tell me how you like New York, after a month here."

I was able to fold away my oddness and bob my head back and forth. "I like it."

He smiled at me wryly. "You do?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

He met my gaze and raised his brows.

That expression, so knowing, so correct, pulled the confession right out of me. "Okay. I miss the sky. I wish I could see a dome, not a narrow strip, when I look up. And I miss real colors. I miss the yellow of dried grass and the bright pink oleander all over the freeways. I miss the fog every morning and the sun in the afternoon. There's no color or sun here-it's just gray."

"You need to leave."

Something in my stomach curled up and died. "Is that so?"

He waved a hand. "Not forever. But for the afternoon. You don't realize how much you miss the trees until you're back in them." He gave me an appraising look. "Or you apparently do, so it's doubly important."

"I don't think so. I don't really have the time, either..." I gave him a somewhat astounded look. "I had no idea how much time this job would take up. I think I thought it would be nine-to-five and that was it, but it's pretty much constant."

He smiled and shook his head, reminding me he breathed and ate his own career. "How about that."

I made a face.

"You could get out on the weekends."

"I suppose I will, when it comes to that."

"Just let me know, and I'll take you."

My breath caught in my throat, and then I drew away and stared up at the moon. I'd looked it so many times and imagined him doing the same, built up a whole world around it. "Are you superstitious, Abe?"

Discomfort flitted across his face, before he smoothed it away with a grin. He didn't question my change of topic either. "Not as much as the other guys."

"No?" Because that touch of discomfort had given him away. "You're just totally calm, no pre-game ritual?"

He caved. "Well, sure, I have one."

"What is it?"

He shrugged. "I get written up by a sideline official."

"You do not." I leaned into him, fascinated. "What for?"

He stared at me, and for once his face was unreadable. "Some rules are worth breaking."

I swayed back and forth, my mind jumping about so much that I barely noticed his evasion. "I would write that article. 'Superstitions of the Leopards'. I think it would have a lot of cross-platform appeal."

Amusement crept back into his voice. "Okay."

"Seriously! I need a title, though. Something punny. About spots. A leopard never changing their spots."

He laughed and knocked my shoulder, shaking his head as he gazed up at the moon.

I, in turn, gazed at him.

He caught me. "What?"

I shook my head. "You still look at the moon."

He nodded, less an answer than affirmation.

My memories of the moon were intricately woven with my memories of Abraham. As a kid, a teen, he ran about with abandon, happy-go-lucky and friendly, rarely still, rarely contemplative, except in the rare nighttime moments. He could be doing anything-out on a walk, camping in the summers with our families, at a party with kids from school, playing a game at night-and he'd always find a moment to raise his face to the moon's light. He soaked it in the way most people I knew took in music or drink or temple-with an utter fascination that bordered on reverence.

I looked up, too. The moon glowed, more alive than any celestial body had a right to be. I always forgot how much I liked the moon until Abe reminded me, but there was very little as beautiful as the stone in the sky.

Though perhaps the man beside me came close.

I lowered my gaze to him, ready to soak in the sight of him as I had so many times before-and was surprised to find him gazing back at me. I swallowed.

His voice lowered. "How do you see things so clear?"

"I spend a lot of time looking."

He nodded. "Why did you go into sports reporting?"

I smiled. "Why? You think I did it because of you?"

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "Well, did you?"

I propped my head on my knees. "You're full of it."

"That a yes or a no?"

I leaned closer, irritated. "I could've been anything I wanted to be. I chose this because I'm good at it. I'm actually good at it, and I like it. I got two majors and a minor in philosophy. I taught and I cooked. I'm not a sports reporter because of any one thing, Abraham Krasner, but because it's what I chose."