Paper Things by Jennifer Richard Jacobson

all the late homework assignments or the disappointed looks from the teachers. I’m not even sure he remembers that I haven’t been given a leadership role yet — and time is running out.
    “To Carter,” Nate says, and raises his glass. I raise my Charlie Brown glass along with everyone else and we clink glasses again. I stuff my concerns deep down; I don’t want to ruin the celebration.
    “How much rent can you afford?” asks Nate.
    Gage tells him, and Chloe says that it will be hard to find a two-bedroom for that price.
    “It’d be a lot easier to swing if there were two of us pitching in for rent,” Gage says. At first I think he’s talking about me, and I cringe; how the heck am I supposed to find enough discarded change to pay half the rent? But then I notice that he’s looking at Chloe — and he’s got a big, teasing grin on his face.
    Chloe’s face turns the color of her red hair. “Not until we make the one-year mark,” she says. But she’s smiling, too, and I can tell she’s glad that he asked, even if it was mostly a joke.
    I look down at the iPad, feeling relieved. As much as I love Chloe, lately I’ve been looking forward to me and Gage having a place all our own — at least for a little while. “We can get a one-bedroom and I’ll sleep on the couch,” I say, glancing up again. But then it occurs to me that we don’t have a couch. We don’t have any furniture. I wonder if Gage’s job will pay him enough for us to get some.
    Chloe takes over the iPad and finds a listing for a one-bedroom in the East End that’s only a little more than we can afford. She reads, “A charming place with a lot of potential!”
    “Boy, there are some red flags,” says Nate. “ ‘Charming’ means small. And ‘potential’ means it’s probably gnarly.”
    “I don’t mind cleaning!” I say, and lean over to get a better look.
    Gage comes over to see, too. “It’s tiny,” he says. “Hardly bigger than Briggs’s studio.”
    It
is
a little small-looking. And it could do with a good, hard scrubbing. But, still — our own place in the East End! “We can do tiny.”
    Nate scoffs. “You couldn’t even spread out your paper dolls in an apartment that small.”
    “We’d have to be the size of Miles,” says Gage, “to fit in that apartment.”
    Chloe looks confused, so I tell her that Miles is my oldest cutout, and Gage tells her that Briggs accidentally ripped him and now he has tape across his chest.
    Nate finds a listing for an apartment in the West End that has only one bedroom, but it has a little office that could be my bedroom. “Applicants must have two years of good recent landlord references,” he reads.
    I frown at the screen. “You mean, you already have to have had an apartment for two years?”
    Gage nods. “I would like to rent this apartment,” he says in a fake deep voice.
    It’s the game! “Do you have references?” I ask in my fake-lady voice.
    “How do you get references?” he says.
    “By renting an apartment,” I say.
    “I would like to rent
this
apartment.”
    “Do you have any references?”
    “How do you get references?”
    “By renting an —”
    “All right, all right,” says Nate. “Anyway, it says here that you can have a cosigner if you don’t have references.”
    “What’s that?” I ask, wobbling back onto my stool.
    “Someone who has a record of being financially responsible,” Gage says.
    “Maybe Janna would cosign for the apartment,” Chloe says before taking another sip of cider.
    I raise my eyes at Gage. Would we really visit Janna? Ask her to help us? My heart stumbles, gives an extra beat. I wonder what she’s doing right now. For some reason I picture her slicing onions, chopping them into little tiny chunks.
    But Gage is shaking his head. “It’s not an option” is all he says. “Besides, it’s in the West End, and Carter is in the East.” He turns off the fire under the pots and pans. “Someone set the table,” he says,