Of the four girls, Jenna is definitely the scariest. I don’t know if it’s the black hair / ice-blue eyes combo or the fact that she smiles like she’s about to sink her teeth into your neck, but I physically have to push my tongue against my teeth a few times to loosen it up enough to respond. “Home sweet home,” I finally choke out.

She doesn’t enter, just lets her gaze travel over the room like she’s giving the world’s most hideous outfit a once-over. “Maybe you should use some of last night’s winnings to hire a decorator.”

I’m pretty sure it’s a joke. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to laugh.

I settle on a wry smile, but she seems to be over me anyway. There’s a light tapping on my doorjamb and she moves on, leaving me no clue what she was doing here in the first place, or where she’s off to next.

Okay, not the most promising start to getting myself included in their talent-show shenanigans. Or finding out if those shenanigans exist to begin with. Frankly, it’s impossible for me to imagine Jenna doing anything that requires looking like she cares about something. The only thing I’ve ever seen bring her joy is making fun of her friends.

Come to think of it, that’s the first time I’ve seen Jenna without Ashleigh, Priya, and Isabel. Maybe that’s what was so unsettling about her presence here.

I don’t have any more time to think about it before my phone rings, and I give it a quick glance only to freeze when I see the word “Home” light up my screen.

I’ve only spoken to my parents a couple of times since I got here, but those calls were always from cell phones—a quick dutiful check-in from my mom on her way home from work, or my dad letting me know he’s thinking of me while mixing up a stir-fry. They almost never use the landline, and I can’t help thinking it’s because it’s not them at all, but Sierra trying to weasel her way into reaching me.

I let it go to voicemail, even though I would kill to hear “Hey, kiddo” in my dad’s voice right now.