“Sweet.” Ryan grinned merrily. “You are going to be one hype beast.”

Trey pointed at a red-curtained dressing room in the corner. “But hurry. We need to do your tattoos and get you out there.”

“Wait,” Liam demanded. “Out where?”

“Didn’t the agency tell you? In this age of protest, we can’t just sell clothes. Your generation likes to speak out. That’s why there’s a broken gun and the words ‘Fuck Guns’ on your sweatshirt. That’s why your jacket says ‘Still Alive’ on the back. Every day is a protest. Your job is to look good while doing it. To be fashionable activists.”

Liam was probably the least politically active kid at school. He didn’t even recycle for fear he’d do it wrong.

Ryan was undeterred. “Fuck guns. Yeah, that’s cool.”

“Gotta go change my pants.” Liam’s voice wavered as he headed into the dressing room.

“So, your husband told me what’s going on. MS sucks. I’m sorry. You look amazing though. Like, better than amazing,” Peaches gushed.

Mandy had already decided that Peaches was annoying. She clearly had a crush on Stu and possibly the writer dude and probably flirted with all the dads at Ted’s school. It was gross.

“Can I get a glass of red wine?” she said in response. She’d done her research. Wine was full of antioxidants. If she was going to drink alcohol in public while allegedly sick with MS, wine was the correct choice.

“Totally,” Peaches said, feeling like she was sixteen and trying to make friends with the coolest girl in high school. “I’ll open you up your own private bottle.”

The agar-agar and formaldehyde would not coalesce. Luckily Elizabeth had stored an entire case of Saran Wrap in the basement. She’d have to make a good seam, one she could tear apart with her fingernails—quickly, at just the right moment—if she ever made it upstairs.

Other people from the neighborhood were trickling into the bar. Peaches thought she recognized a few parent faces, but out of the context of the school she couldn’t be sure. Roy Clarke had taken up the position of bartender, which suited him. She joined him behind the bar, ducking down to look for a bottle of red wine.

“This would be the perfect thing to do when you’re not writing,” she said. “You can observe people, listen in on their conversations. Watch them misbehave.”

Roy stood to the side so as not to tread on her. “Tending bar, you mean?” He had never considered this. “I’m hiding, don’t you see? Mingling has never been my thing.”

Peaches located a dusty case of Malbec and pulled one of the bottles from the box. Now she had to open it—with what, her teeth? She was tempted to tell Roy about Elizabeth’s Birth, but decided he couldn’t be trusted not to spill the beans.