Leaving embarrassment to Esther, Susan favored overly competitive involvement and anarchy. She’d entered the opening game of the Snap Soc meeting with such aggression that she’d broken someone’s finger and started a bar fight, from which she and Daisy were forced to retreat through the beer cellar and out onto the street. Shortly after, Daisy received notification that she had been removed from the Snapchat group and would not be privy to the locations of further meetings. The same technique had worked flawlessly for Pokémon and Anarchic Croquet. Apparently, anarchy didn’t stretch to Susan dousing a croquet ball in gasoline, setting it alight, and attempting to smash it through the window of a nearby bank while screaming, “TAKE THAT, CAPITALISM!”

That morning, Daisy had sung her last four-part harmony with the Barbershop Babes, played her last chip at the Poker Soc, and supped her last goblet of mead over lunch with the Medieval Reenactment Org. A few things she would miss, like the excuse to wear a straw boater and the feel of crushed velvet, but some things were better enjoyed as a fleeting memory, rather than a weekly commitment. (Plus, she wasn’t entirely sure the members of the Medieval Reenactment Org would let her back in after one of the less noble knights had suggested that Susan had the comely shape befitting a serving wench and had promptly been informed of exactly where he could relocate his lance.)

Only one society remained, one that both Susan and Esther would attend that night. Apparently, they didn’t trust Daisy’s judgment even when it came to yoga. It didn’t matter how much Daisy waxed lyrical about the two beginner sessions she’d attended; they were skeptical. As Susan had pointed out, a society called “The Yogic Brethren of Zoise” was distinctly on the strange side, and all Daisy’s arguments trying to persuade them otherwise somehow only seemed to cement her friends’ conviction to extricate her.

Daisy’s afternoon had been spent pleasurably enough contemplating Iron Age settlements. As she took her time packing away her notes, Reggie shuffled over to lurk at the end of the row.

A moment later, he coughed.

“Reggie, if you want to talk to me, just say, ‘Hey, Daisy.’”

“Oh, er, hey, Daisy.” When Reggie smiled, his whole face creased up, and you couldn’t help but join him. Sliding her notes into her bag, she zipped it up and slipped it over her shoulder, falling into step with Reggie on her way out of the lecture hall.

“I like your T-shirt,” she told him. Daisy always liked what Reggie wore. He seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of humorous slogan T-shirts. Today’s said: Archaeology? I dig it.