“Unless you’re an insomniac.” Susan pointed both thumbs at herself, then gave Daisy a doubtful look. “Which you’re not—are you?”

“I don’t think so.” Daisy blew across the top of her drink, watching the ripples. “I’ve just been a bit busy.”

“Doing what? Digging trenches and carbon-dating human remains?” Susan asked.

“Ooh, or you’ve uncovered some kind of cursed medallion that possesses you during the night, so that you wake more exhausted than when you went to bed, dirt under your fingernails and a taste for blood . . .” Esther stopped talking when she realized how the other two were looking at her. “What? Like you weren’t thinking that, too.”

“I definitely wasn’t,” Susan said.

“Nor me.” Daisy studied her fingernails. “Although it’s good to know what signs I should watch out for. No, I’m actually a bit behind on my course.”

“What?” Susan was aghast. “I mean, I expect this from Esther—”

“Hey!”

“—but you? Daisy Wooton, I would never have you down as a slacker.”

“I’m not usually.” Tracing the pattern on the side of her mug, she reluctantly met Susan’s eyes. “It’s just, you know, you said I should try out some of those societies I signed up for at the fair?”

“I did . . .” Susan was wary.

“I might have signed up for a few too many.”

“A few, like, how many? Five? Ten?”

Daisy replied, but it was too quiet for either of the others to hear.

“Sorry, what?” They both leaned in.

“A few like . . . thirty-two?”

It was remarkable how quickly one could stage an intervention—especially when you had exactly the right outfit for the occasion. Esther marched back and forth in front of the enormous whiteboard in the kitchen in her new rifleman’s jacket, feeling incredibly important and trying not to get distracted by the tiny little jizzing penis in the bottom corner of the whiteboard that a long-ago J-block occupant had drawn in permanent marker. Drawing a grid with long, swooping lines so that everything was on a slight slant, Esther mapped out a week planner, while Susan and Daisy sat at the table, Daisy’s laptop open and her out-of-control inbox on the screen.

“Daisy, please write in your course commitments.” Esther held out a red pen imperiously, and Daisy jumped up to write in five lectures, one seminar, and a lab session before returning to her seat.

“And you actually go to all these . . . ?” Esther asked doubtfully.

Daisy nodded in earnest, and Susan smirked. “Good to see that the de Groots are getting value out of those tuition fees . . .”

Ignoring that dig, Esther switched to a green pen and stepped up to Monday.

“Club me up.”

Daisy ran a search for the date, and four separate e-mails showed up.

10:00 A.M. Comic Club

12:00 P.M. Ladies Who Brunch

3:00 P.M. Paper Clip Fanciers

6:00 P.M. Snap Soc