“I’m Juliet,” the girl said, sniffling. She had popped a blood vessel from puking and now had one bloodred eye. Anna thought about telling the girl that her rainbow-wigged Romeo was searching for her, but she didn’t. Why should I help them find each other? Romeo and Juliet had ended badly. Why do people call it a love story when they both end up dead? It doesn’t make sense. Why does nothing make sense?

XXV

By now it was dark and Murf had spent the last three hours searching for Anna, but with over one hundred thousand people and spotty cell phone reception, it was an impossible task. Steven, who was tripping hard, had run into him, explaining he’d lost his sister and couldn’t find her. Murf told Daler and Rowney he’d meet up with them later and texted Vronsky the situation. Vronsky, who had decided to skip the day’s performances, was back at the house getting drunk by the pool, so when he showed up at the fairgrounds, he was wasted. Murf had to threaten him with a second black eye before he agreed to go, explaining he didn’t have the time to babysit his drunk ass. Vronsky nodded and started the long and lonely walk back to the fairground exits, but only after begging his friend to please text him once he found Anna.

By the time Murf did find Anna in the medical tent, she was shivering in the night air even though she had a blanket around her shoulders. The nurse didn’t want to release Anna to Murf, explaining she needed to call Anna’s parents. Murf said Anna’s parents were dead, and even though Anna was almost back to normal, when she heard Murf’s fib she started to cry. The nurse told them she wasn’t paid enough to deal with this kind of bullshit and asked them to leave.

Coachella after dark looked totally different, and if Anna weren’t so miserable, she would have found it gloriously and magically beautiful. The large-scale art installations lit up the night sky but pockets of darkness made it hard to see. Murf put a dust mask over her face as the wind had picked up, and they weaved their way through the crowd back toward the larger VIP area where Steven said he was going to be. Suddenly Anna stopped walking, refusing to continue on.

“Let’s go, we’re almost there,” Murf said.

Anna pointed at a nearby screen that was glowing red with flames. “Listen! She’s talking about me.”

Murf stared at the massive screen with Anna, unfamiliar with the seventeen-year-old wunderkind on the stage singing, “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. All the good girls go to hell…”

“Anna, you’re fucked up. It’s just a song. You’re not going to hell.”