Vicky kept a cosmetic silence. I used to think people wanted to be around her because she was beautiful and her parents were rich, but it was more than that. She was always completely herself. She was funny and kind in a distracted sort of way, and she never threw shade. Watching her stroke the eyeliner out to a witchy point, I could see right into the future. Vicky would have adventures, and mishaps, and three or four husbands, at least, with divorces to match. I glanced over to see if Fiona was thinking the same thing, but she was on the floor, arching her back into the Upward Facing Dog.

“This position,” she said to the ceiling, “elongates the spine.”

“God knows yours needs elongating,” said Vicky.

“Hey!” Fiona used to envy me my height. I don’t suppose she does anymore, but she is still desperate to gain some inches. She came out of the pose and sat cross-legged, rubbing her thighs. “I keep getting these growing pains, but nothing ever happens.”

“Poor baby,” I said. “Don’t even think about it. Short is the new tall.”

Fiona would stay sweet and petite and have a houseful of oddball kids and she would stand by her man no matter what. In their different ways, the two of them would get what they wanted. Whether it happened tomorrow, or next year, or some other time, or not at all, made no difference. The future for them was a huge misty field they couldn’t see the end of.

“By the way,” I said, “there’s nothing going on, you know. With Jack.”

“Well, I can tell you he doesn’t post anything interesting on Facebook,” said Vicky. “It’s all icebergs and fund-raising links.”

“How do you know?”

“If you’re not going to stalk him, we are! See if he’s leading you on. Believe me, he has some hot girls after him.”

“A philanderer? Jack Bell?” Fiona was across the room now, squatting down. “Nice guy, but not exactly—”

“Fine by me,” I cut in. “We’re friends.”

“Friends,” said Vicky with distaste.

Fiona stood up, my sketchbook in her hands. “Hey, what’s this? Don’t tell me you drew this?”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Oh my god. It looks exactly like you. Exactly. Maddy, you are such a good artist. Isn’t she, Vic?”

Vicky turned around, both eyes winged now. “Whoa,” she said. “I could never do that. Not in a million years.” People who look out for themselves don’t mind giving praise.

“You’ve never tried,” I said, to be generous back.

Fiona was flipping through the pages. She came to the half-finished sketches of Cloud. “This is cool. Squint your eyes and look from one to the other.”

“It’s like she’s moving on the page,” said Vicky.

“Alive, almost.”

Maddy,