Lori...

The envelope is thick and a little grimy around the edges, like it's been manhandled from wherever it came from.

I turn it over a few times, but there's no return address, no stamp, nothing but my name, "Lori," scrawled in an old-fashioned, slightly crooked handwriting.

I scrunch my nose, I don't usually get physical mail or anything so this is weird enough.

But the second I rip it open and see cash - actual, literal cash - my heartbeat picks up speed.

There's no note, no explanation, just a wad of twenties and fifties that looks like it was taken off someone's stash under a mattress.

It feels too good to be true, but here's the thing - rent's due, and Ms. Melody has already left me two aggressive voicemails.

I'm pretty sure one more and she'll be showing up with his rusty van, threatening to start packing my stuff herself.

I don't know where this money came from, and honestly, it's probably not smart to keep it. But I figure if I use it, just this one time, and pay it back the second I get my next check, no harm done, right?

Besides, I don't exactly have a lot of options. It's this or I'm homeless.

***

Ms. Melody is skeptical when I bring up security cameras for the building.

It takes me a full thirty minutes of reminding her how she'll be "protecting her investment" and me almost threatening to take my cash somewhere else for her to finally agree.

She hands the tapes for the last few days and installs some more in the front.

For the next few days, I keep one eye on the footage, waiting for anything that might look suspicious. And then, one evening while I'm combing through, I see it.

At first glance, she looks like any random person strolling down the block, maybe even someone who got lost on their way to the other side of town.

She's got on this bright yellow sundress - not the kind of thing you'd expect to see in a neighborhood like mine, where everything's more jeans and hoodies than sundresses and sun hats.

She's carrying a small bag in one hand, and just before she reaches the building, she glances around, like she's checking to make sure no one's watching.

But it's definitely her. She slips right up to my mail box, drops an envelope in, and then disappears as quickly as she came.

I rewind the footage a few times, zooming in, squinting, trying to catch any identifying features. But the camera quality's not great - she's little more than a fuzzy figure in yellow.

The only thing I can think of to do is ask around, but I don't exactly know my neighbors well.

Most of them are older, minding their own business, or they're families with kids who tend to be in and out without much interest in anything going on around them.

The only people who seem to pay attention to every single thing are the kids who hang out in front of the corner store - a mix of skateboarders, graffiti artists, and part-time troublemakers who've got an eye on everything.

The next day after work, I head over to the corner, catching a few of the kids on their usual spot, propped up against the wall with their boards and spray cans.

"Hey," I start, and the kid with the backwards cap gives me a raised eyebrow. "Any of you seen someone around here lately wearing a yellow sundress?"

A few kids shrug but one is glancing at his friends with a grin.

"What, you got a secret admirer or something?"

"More like a mystery I'm trying to solve," I reply, keeping my tone casual but with just enough interest to make them feel like they're part of something. "Someone's been leaving things at my place, and I'd like to know who it is."

One of the younger kids, a girl with blue streaks in her hair, perks up. "You mean the lady with the bag?"

I cock an eyebrow. "You've seen her?"

She nods, fiddling with her board.

"Yeah, she's been around a few times."

I frown, trying to make sense of it. "Where?"

"I don't know. Around." she says.
"She's been all around the block. Kind of weird, right?"

"Weird's one word for it," I mutter, glancing down the street like I'll spot the woman just standing there. But of course, there's nothing but the usual stream of people.

"Can you keep an eye out?" I ask, fishing in my pocket and pulling out a five. "If you see her again, let me know."

They agree, and as I walk away, I catch them giggling.

But as amusing as it all sounds, I can't shake the feeling there's something strange about this whole thing - like this isn't just some random act of kindness.

***

I stare at the screen, Marcelina's number is staring back at me like it's daring me to press it.

What's the worst that could happen? It's a boring weekend, Zoey is not here and I could use a drink and... okay, I won't say "company," but maybe a distraction. Marcel's as good as anyone for that.

The call connects, and Marcel's face fills the screen, her brows pinched in that slight frown she probably doesn't even know she does.

Her hair's loose, tumbling over her shoulders, and she's in some soft sweater that looks like the last thing I'd expect to see her in.

"Lori," she says, more of a question than a greeting. "What's up?"

"You look thrilled to see me," I say, because teasing her has become my second nature. "I thought I'd give you the honor of spending a boring Saturday night with me. I'm headed out for a drink and didn't want to drink alone. Lucky you, huh?"

She raises an eyebrow, folding her arms like she's considering the idea, or maybe not.

"But don't you have other friends for that?"

It's Marcel, so naturally, she's got to throw it back at me.

I shrug, feigning nonchalance.

"I figured I'd do my good deed for the week. Thought you might need rescuing from whatever's so exciting over there. Don't tell me you've got big plans involving that... sweater."

She glances down at it, then back at me with an almost-smile that fades too quickly.

"Fine. But only because you're a pathetic loner."

I scoff. I want to say look who is talking but I just roll my eyes and smile.

"Great. You're not going to regret this," I tell her.