The room erupted, crisps got tossed into the air, gowns were flung off in jubilation, and Daisy beamed out across the (not very impressive) crowd. As the group splintered into individuals once more, some went to look for their things in the closet—Reggie rejoicing in finding his signed Dan Brown book—while others ditched their robes and left through the back doors. This might be the end of Zoise, but it was the beginning of something better. Independence.

“I don’t think they’re going to need this anymore . . .” Esther said, picking up the Book of Zoise and flicking through the recipes as they followed the rest of the Brethren out the back doors and toward the front of the house. “There’s some really good stuff in here.”

Daisy slipped her arms around Esther and gave her a grateful squeeze.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she whispered into her friend’s shoulder.

“We missed you, Daisy,” Esther said quietly. “A lot.”

“And who, exactly, are you?”

Susan scrunched up her face in frustration. Getting caught by Elise hadn’t been part of the plan. Time to improvise.

“Oh, er, hey.” She turned to face the doorway and adopted a slightly sheepish expression, mussing her hair up as she rubbed the back of her head apologetically. “I’m Susie. Nice to meet you.”

Elise wasn’t so tall. Susan could take her if she had to. Probably best not to, though. Daisy wouldn’t approve of bloodshed.

“I’m afraid I can’t exactly say the same.” Elise shifted her weight and crossed her arms, one eyebrow rising in challenge. Her hair was still slick from the shower, and her skin looked scrubbed clean, as if subjected to several rounds of exfoliation. “Why, exactly, are you rifling through Jasper’s things?”

“I wouldn’t say rifling . . .”

“I would, and I did.”

Susan’s attempt at a smile was as successful as a snowball fight in the Sahara. “Look . . .” She lowered her voice as if embarrassed. “I didn’t even know his name. It was just one of those things, you know?”

Elise acted as if she did not.

“Both of us were so . . .” Susan let out a breathless, dreamy sigh. The kind that implied pleasures of the flesh. “We just had this connection. So intense.”

Elise was tapping her foot.

“We barely even spoke. So wild.” She glanced at the rumpled bedclothes, the discarded socks and shoes and clothes, letting her wistful gaze and disheveled appearance do the talking. When Susan glanced over at the girl in the doorway, it was clear they hadn’t said enough. “I had hot sex with your housemate, and now I can’t find my bra. OK?”

It came out a little more confrontational than intended. Which was on-brand, really. Susan waited, watching to see if her play worked. She looked like she might have awoken after a night of wild and sweaty sex. Disheveled was her signature look.