We climbed a hill, descended. The landscape changed to desert, broken fences, broken storefronts, the words “Indian Jewelry” “frybread” and “pottery,” painted on every wall. The girls kept filming and I thought about Leah, what she’d said about America, privilege, appropriation, words I knew but couldn’t use. I was guilty of all of it, that much I understood. As were the girls around me, witlessly consuming real need, real people’s stories, to upload later as sidebars to their own. I put my head on the window, forehead against cold glass, and listened to their chatter. This filter, that filter, my mom this and that. Say Yes to the Dress. HIIT versus bootcamp versus cardio versus weights. CBD versus THC. Botox versus Dysport. Adderall versus caffeine, coke versus molly. Vodka diet, vodka sugar-free Red Bull, tequila soda, extra lime.

“Hold your pulse points,” someone told me.

“Thanks,” I said, and dug a thumb into my wrist.

We slowed to turn. Another road, this one private. It took us to a gate, tall as a house. The driver rolled down his window, spoke to the man in white who guarded it. The gate opened and we passed into a compound, peppered with small buildings, golf carts and four-wheelers. We turned a corner, approached a mansion so large it looked like a shopping mall. Through the window tint, I saw Jake descend the front steps.

He hadn’t said he would be here. I hadn’t asked where he would be. It struck me as strange, that I hadn’t thought to ask. Because seeing him felt like wanting and working and coming so close to having. It felt like elation and dread. The car stopped. Doors opened. Girls rushed out. Jake orchestrated bags. I came last, put myself in his way.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. He jerked a little, like he hadn’t expected to see me.

“There you are,” he said, and took hold of my shoulders, pulled me in, hugged me, pushed me out again and looked at my breasts.

“I’m so happy to see you,” he said.

“I’m feeling sick.” I stuck out my tongue.

“I’ll get you something for that.” He kissed my forehead. I asked again why he was around, but it was simple, Jake said. He owed Blaze a favor. He sometimes helped Blaze out. Remember that time he came to Arizona? He came to Arizona a lot. He didn’t have to explain beyond that, or tell me to follow. I just followed; all the girls followed. Up the stairs, into the house, through the wide foyer and grand lobby, past red lights and houseplants big as trees, an elevated scaffolding and turntable. Speakers pumped trap music, stopped for a sound check, started again. Men stood around in black athleisure and white sneakers. And everywhere, the Blaze brand insignia, that neon-green panther, bore its fangs.