Free Cha-Ching! by Ali Liebegott

with the heat on, Cary Grant strategically in front of the heater, warming her fur.
    Being in Brooklyn and having a friend was making Theo even more depressed about Yonkers.
    â€œI never want to go back,” she told Sammy.
    â€œYou want me to ask my aunt if you can crash with us for a little while?” Sammy asked. “The only thing is you’d have to sleep on the floor. Because we just have the couch and her bedroom.”
    â€œBut I don’t have a job here,” Theo said. “Or any money.”
    â€œWe should find an apartment together. If we shared a one-bedroom we could afford it. You could get out of Yonkers. I could help you take care of Cary Grant.”
    â€œReally?” Theo asked. “Will a one-bedroom be big enough?”
    â€œWe could get a pull-out couch for the living room and trade off the bedroom every few months. When I’m not at massage school I’ll probably be at work anyway.”
    The prospect of having someone to help her pay the rent and take care of the dog was exciting.
    â€œLet’s get some beer and the classifieds and look for some apartments right now,” Sammy said.
    â€œOkay.”
    She didn’t want to tell Sammy she was trying to be sober, because the idea of a beer sounded amazing. Theo had many sobriety dates: August 1st, March 18th, September 3rd, September 18th, New Year’s Day (Theo’s birthday January 1st), every old girlfriend’s birthday, her mother’s birthday, and after she fell in love with Vincent Van Gogh, March 30th, his birthday. The great thing about quitting drinking so many times, she told herself, was it gave her a kind of expertise to know how to stop again if she relapsed. Her alcoholism was like a person who finds themselves running down a too-steep hill; inevitably their body moves faster than their legs and they plummet face-first into the gravel. No, she wasn’t going to tell Sammy she was sober, just in case she decided to drink.
    Theo drove them through Brooklyn back to Sammy’s, riding a manic high at the prospect of drinking again. Her body turned jumpy the way it did when she flirted with unavailable girls or considered stealing; she was tiptoeing on the edge of danger. The mania made all of Brooklyn brighter—the butcher shops and corner stores and clusters of old men sitting on park benches reading the New York Post .
    Back at Sammy’s apartment, Sammy rolled a joint.
    â€œOh, I forgot to get the beer,” Sammy said taking a hit off her joint.
    â€œIt’s no big deal,” Theo said, trying to seem nonchalant.
    Theo read the apartment ads out loud to Sammy one at a time, circling every one that was less than $800. Then Sammy and Theo alternated calling. Each time someone answered, the apartment had already been rented.
    â€œBut the paper only came out today. I don’t understand—how is everything already rented?” Theo said.
    â€œWe’ll find a place,” Sammy reassured her. “It’s only the first day.”
    In the late afternoon they went to Coney Island, and even though the boardwalk was closed for the winter they managed to buy some Nathan’s cheese fries. They walked the perimeter of the locked-up rides, looking at the tall weeds growing through the concrete at the foot of the Cyclone Rollercoaster.
    â€œHave you ever been on that?” Theo asked Sammy.
    Sammy nodded.
    â€œWe can come here in the summer when it’s open. You feel like you’re going to die. It’s so fun.”
    â€œHas anyone ever died on it?”
    â€œYeah. A couple.”
    Sammy pointed to the roller coaster’s wooden planks. “Don’t they look like they could snap in half any minute?”
    On the drive home, Sammy pointed out more Brooklyn landmarks as night fell. Finally, when it was time for Theo to go home, her stomach filled with dread. Sammy promised to continue looking for apartments on their behalf and gave Cary Grant