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“Yes,” I hiss through my teeth.

“This almost feels like a conversation. But I thought I was supposed to go talk to the others if I want to talk to someone?”

I grit my teeth and close my eyes against the too-bright light. “You’re really not going to tell me the time?”

“I would definitely tell you the time, Maya. Definitely. But, you’re awful. So.” She gives the bed another shake, which I think is taking it a bit too far, and hops to the ground. I open my eyes a crack and see she’s already fully dressed in shorts and a flannel shirt. Not a great sign. She catches me looking, and gives me a shit-eating grin. “I sincerely hope you finish nailing your coffin today. You talk in your sleep. Loudly. I’dreallylike to have my own room tonight.”

I give her the finger and pull the blanket over my head so I can let my eyes adjust to being open without my head splitting in half. Weren’t we supposed to get a wake-up knock hours ago? Did they forget us, or did I just sleep straight through it?

Keeping a hand on my head, and my neck as stiff as possible, I force myself out of bed and into the dress-and-boots combo I had the genius idea of planning yesterday afternoon. I could kiss past-me, if I wasn’t so annoyed with her for getting this wasted last night. I am humiliated, and I am sore, and that is about the worst combination I can think of.

Woe is me. Woe is I.

About ten gallons of water and two Advil later, I’m readyto shuffle into the hallway and find out how late it really is. Perrie’s door is open, thank god, and both she and her roommate, Francesca, are still inside. They’re both dressed, but neither of them have touched their hair or makeup from the looks of things. Which either means both girls are being weirdly chill about how they’ll look on camera today, or it actually isn’t as late as I’d worried.

“You look like shit,” Francesca greets me without even faking a smile.

I ignore her. “Do you know what time it is?” I ask Perrie. She points to the digital alarm clock she has plugged in on her desk—why didn’t I think to bring a relic like that along with me?—and I discover to my great relief it’s only ten thirty.

“Awesome,” I say, and promptly curl up in a ball in the middle of the carpet, ducking my head to block out the light. Oh, sweet relief.

“You can’t sleep in here,” Francesca says. “Why’s she sleeping on our rug?”

“Have you taken any painkillers, sweetie?” Perrie asks. Her voice is close. She must have kneeled down beside me.

“Yes,” I say in a small voice.

“Okay. You’ll perk up. We’re gonna start getting ready soon. Guess we’ll put you down for the second shift in the bathroom?”

I try to reply with a yes, but it comes out as more of a strangled groan of unimaginable suffering.

“Noted.”

There’s a long silence. Long enough I think maybe I’ve been left alone in the room, and I realize with fascination I’m so tired I can hear my own eyeballs. Then, Francesca breaks the silence by stage-whispering, “She’s not leaving.”

I peek up, glare at her, then return to my facedown fetal position.

“I think you might need to let her ride this one out,” Perrie says diplomatically.

If I survive this hangover, I am going to make it my life’s mission to ensure that girl gets nothing but rainbows and happiness for the rest of her goddamn life.

ELEVENSkye

After a rushed lunch ofmas chaux—a sort of Chalonian sandwich made of processed turkey loaf, ham, and mayonnaise, of all things—we gather at the Kool-Aid lake to start filming. Up close, the lake is even more impressive than it’d looked from the car. It seems to stretch on forever, only ending in the distance where it hits towering, snowcapped mountains.

I’m actually feeling wonderful today. Last night was incredible, if you ignore the drama Maya insisted on starting, which I’m choosing to because I am mature, unlikesome people.Truly, though, she’s been taking the “you stole my man” schticka lotfurther than I expected her to. I’m just glad Jordy had the good sense to warn me before she had the chance to accuse me of cheating in front of the group. If I’d been caught off guard, who knows how I might have reacted. I might have even believed her. Shedoesseem awfully sure of herself.

Regardless, I’m not here for Maya, so I’m not going to give her a second’s more thought. I’m here for Jordy, and that’s what I’m focusing on today.

Speaking with Jordy last night, and breathing him in, and hearing his voice, and having him brush my hair behind my ear, set off something visceral. It reminds me somewhat ofwhen I first arrived in London and a group of us played a drinking game in the hostel and I got far too drunk on coconut rum, then the smell of coconut started making me dry heave because it reminded me of the time I almost died. Similar, but, I suppose, the positive version? Smelling Jordy last night made my head spin because it reminded me of the time I almost fell in love.

“Today, we’re going back to the beginning of the ouroboros,” Gwendolyn says. She’s wearing another suit, although today’s is indigo. It doesn’t get especially hot in Chalonne—particularly near the mountains—but it’s still summer, and today is in the high seventies. If it weren’t for the beads of sweat on her upper lip, I would’ve wondered if this woman can feel the heat at all.

“An ouroboros doesn’t have a beginning,” Francesca mutters. She’s sprawled on a picnic rug beside me, wearing a sundress and a scowl.

“What’s that, Francesca?” Gwendolyn asks.

Francesca straightens and raises her voice without hesitation. “It’s infinite. That’s the point.”