She glances at me over her shoulder. “Damn, that’s a heavy door.” Jamie takes a few steps toward me before pivoting and charging the door again. This time she plows torso-first into it with a groan of exertion. It opens about forty-five degrees. She slips inside and disappears into the house.

“Jamie!”

The door closes behind her. What the intercourse?

“Jamie!” I screech again.

After thirty seconds of silence I slide off the bench and wander over to the door. The weightlessness of my new short hair throws me for a moment. It feels … weirdly good. Light.

“Jamie!” I yell from directly outside the door. “Come out. Please. This place could be rotted through! Or have asbestos!”

She doesn’t answer.

“Great.” I glare for another ten seconds before pushing into the door myself. The wood feels hard and cold, like concrete. I have to dig my sneakers into the dirt to get it to open and then use my upper body strength to make enough space to slither inside.

It’s dark when the door closes, and then a light clicks on overhead. I don’t see Jamie.

“Boo!” She leaps out from behind me.

I go still. “Could you not?”

She laughs and comes to stand beside me. “Glorious, right?”

The cabin is one room, much like our retreat cabins. Across the floor on the far wall is a giant old-fashioned chest: the kind you see on TV holding overflowing bouts of treasure or a dead body. An old wooden rocking chair moves almost imperceptibly in the far corner. A lone light bulb dangles from the center of the ceiling and the wood floor is covered in debris. Leaves, sticks, dust. Gross.

“It bears a striking resemblance to the studio apartment I was evicted from last month.” Jamie smiles at me.

I turn to meet her eyes. “You were evicted?”

“You think I voluntarily live with Dad?”

“I don’t … you never—” I turn my attention back to the floor. “I don’t know. Can we leave now?”

Jamie nods. “In a minute. I was waiting for you to come in so we could open that giant-ass chest together. What do you think is inside? Sandwiches? Rocks? Treasure? My hopes and dreams?”

I huff. “No.”

“A puppy?” she asks in a childish voice.

“I think nothing. There’s probably nothing in it.”

She fearlessly throws herself onto the nasty floor and starts unlocking the six bolts that hold it closed.

“Jamie, I really don’t like this—”

“Come sit next to me over here.” She gestures to the area next to her.

With a groan, I walk over and carefully lower down to my knees. The floor is cold and hard, like the door.

She undoes the final buckle, glances at me, and throws open the top with a delighted flourish. I blow out a confused breath as it bangs against the wall.