“It’s nothing.”

“Just tell me what it is,” Lisa said, moving toward the box.

Ben hopped out of his seat to stop her. “It’s private,” he said, holding the box closed. “No offense, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What’s in it? A severed head? Sex toys? What’s the big secret?”

“Leave it alone!” Ben pushed Lisa’s hands away from the box.

Surprised by the intensity of Ben’s objection, Lisa stepped away from her co-clerk.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said. “I just don’t want you touching it.”

“If you don’t trust me, say it to my face.”

“Lisa, it’s not that, I just-”

“Don’t bullshit me. It insults both my intelligence and yours. It obviously has something to do with Rick. What else can be that important?”

“It has nothing to do with Rick.”

“Then show me what’s in the box.”

“Lisa, I can’t. I-”

“Ever since we got back from Thanksgiving, you’ve been acting creepy around me. I know it’s not the sex-I give you more credit than that. But it’s clear that you’re hiding something.”

“What am I hiding?” Ben asked.

“It’s just the way you act. You’re just…different. I can’t explain it. It’s some kind of Walden-like withdrawal. And then, when I walked in on your phone call last week, you said you were planning Ober’s birthday party. When I first met Ober, he told me he was born in the summer. He was complaining that summer birthdays suck because everyone always forgets them, and you don’t get any presents. Ben, in case you didn’t realize, it’s now December.” Lisa stared at her co-clerk in silence.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

“Then tell me what’s in the box.”

“What?”

“You heard me. If you trust me so much, tell me what’s in the box.”

Ben reluctantly pulled open the carton. “They’re just old yearbooks. I was hoping that if I could pick out Rick’s picture, I’d have a better chance of identifying him.”

Tapping her foot against the floor, Lisa looked like she was ready to explode, her face crimson with anger. She pulled her wallet from her desk drawer, stormed to the closet, grabbed her coat, and opened the door.

“Lisa, I didn’t mean-”

She left the office, slamming the door behind her.

At eight that evening, Ben pounded on the front door of his house. “Open the door!” he yelled. Struggling to carry four boxes full of yearbooks, Ben felt his grip slipping. “Hurry up!”

“Hold on!” Nathan called out as he rushed to the door. “I’m coming!”

When Nathan opened the door, Ben staggered into the house and dropped the boxes on the couch. “There are a few more in the taxi. Can you help me carry them?”

Braving the cold without a jacket, Nathan ran to the taxi waiting in front of their house. He pulled three of the five boxes from the trunk of the car and ran back to the house, followed by Ben. Once inside, he said, “I assume these are the yearbooks.”

“Most of them,” Ben said as he took off his coat. “We’re still missing Harvard’s and Michigan’s.”

“I saw Blake’s anniversary party on the news. Were you there for it?”

“No, I missed it,” Ben said. “I was too busy getting reamed by Lisa. She was pissed because she finally realized I wasn’t telling her about Rick anymore.”

“How could she realize that?”

“Because she’s smart,” Ben said. “Unlike those grunts at the State Department, I work with brilliant, deductive people. When she saw the yearbooks, she realized things were going on without her, and she got a tad irate with me.”

“So you told her about the yearbooks?”

“I had to. I thought it was the only way to show her I trusted her.”

“And that didn’t work?”

“Are you kidding? Now she has concrete proof I was hiding stuff.”

“And so now the one person we don’t trust not only knows about our newest plan but is also intensely mad at you?”

“That sums it up,” Ben said. “Not a bad day at work, huh? Tomorrow, I think I’m going to smash a few mirrors to see if things can possibly get worse.”

Ober walked through the door. “I have the single best idea for a new restaurant!” he announced. “Better than Tequila Mockingbird!”

“Looks like you don’t have to wait until tomorrow,” Nathan said.

“Here’s the idea,” he said, throwing his jacket on the dining room table. “It’ll be the world’s first non-Jewish delicatessen.” As his arms flailed through the air, he explained, “There are way too many Jewish delis, and they all serve the same thing. But there are millions of people who don’t want the typical pastrami and roast beef on rye. So I’m going to open ‘Christ, That’s a Good Sandwich,’ the world’s first non-Jewish deli. Every sandwich will be served on white bread, and everything comes with your choice of mayo or cheese. It’ll be a gold mine!” Rubbing his hands together, he said, “If you guys want, you can be initial investors.”

“Maybe you can get a cooperative crossover deal with Wonder Bread,” Nathan said.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Ober agreed. Noticing the sullen expression on Ben’s face, he asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Lisa found out that we were planning against Rick without her, and now she thinks we don’t trust her.”

“She’s right,” Ober said. “We don’t.”

“She also won’t speak to Ben anymore. She hates him and wishes he’d disappear.”

“Awwww, don’t let that get you down.” Ober sat next to Ben. “Lots of women hate me. It’s not that bad.”

“Why are you in such a good mood?” Ben asked, staring at his roommate. “I haven’t seen you this manic since you ate that whole bottle of Flintstone vitamins.”

“I’m just happy,” Ober said, putting his arm around Ben. “I have good friends, a good home, a good job-” Ober noticed the boxes that covered the small couch. “Are those the yearbooks?”

“Those’re them,” Nathan said. “The proverbial straws that broke Lisa’s back.”

“I really wouldn’t worry about her.” Ober turned back to Ben. “You guys are good friends. You’ll make up soon.”

“It’ll be fine,” Nathan agreed. “I mean, look at you and Eric. You guys are making improvements by leaps and bounds.”

An hour later, a large tomato and garlic pizza was delivered to the house. After everyone had grabbed a slice, the roommates turned their attention to the yearbooks scattered around the living room.

Dressed in gray sweatpants and a black-striped T-shirt, Ober sat with his feet up on the sofa. “I don’t even understand why we have to do this,” he moaned, staring at an old Stanford Law School yearbook. “I have no idea what Rick looks like. I’ve never seen him before.”

“Just keep flipping,” Ben said. “I told you what he looks like. He has a really thin head and permanent bags under his eyes.”

“That’s half the people in here,” Ober complained. “No offense, but lawyers aren’t the physical gems of society.”

“You’re looking because I need your help,” Ben said. “If you see someone that fits the description, highlight their name. That way, there’s less of a chance that I’ll overlook them when I go through it.”

“But you still have to look through them yourself,” Ober said.

“Just shut up and look,” Nathan said.

“These people are all starting to look the same,” Ober said two hours later. “Every class is the same: bald guy, ugly guy, ugly girl, bald guy, ugly girl, bald girl.”

“They’re certainly not a pretty bunch,” Nathan agreed.

“I think we should have a contest,” Ober said. “The person that finds the ugliest picture wins.”

“What do you win?” Ben asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Nathan said, sitting up on the couch. “I just won. Take a look at this freak.”

Passing the book to Ober, Nathan pointed to a picture of Ben from his days at Yale Law School. “Look at you,” Ober said. “What’d you comb your hair with that morning? A rake?”