Stacked on the seat of each chair sat a tower of bowls, plates, mugs, and glasses, with the toaster, kettle, and new microwave on the floor underneath.

Over by the sink, in striped pajama bottoms and an oversize T-shirt, feet bare, hands clad in the familiar yellow of Daisy’s rubber gloves, stood . . .

“Susan?” Esther’s grip relaxed, and she stepped from behind Daisy to stare in shock at the horror before them.

“Help me,” Susan said, face haggard, eyes practically vibrating in their sockets.

“Sure!” Daisy said. “Hand me the spray and some kitchen towels.”

“Not with the kitchen!” A muscle in Susan’s cheek spasmed. “I’ve been awake for fifty-two hours.”

“That’s an awfully long time to be awake . . .”

“YOU THINK?” Susan howled, waving at her surroundings. “Look at what it’s reduced me to.”

“Becoming someone conscientious enough to understand that communal areas are the responsibility of those who use them and not just the person with the lowest tolerance for mess?” Daisy asked. It was a bit of a reach.

“I. Can’t. Sleep.” Susan wildly misjudged the location of her limbs in relation to the recycling bin. As the bin toppled over, the contents spilled out across the floor, empty can upon empty can of ENN-ARR-GEE with flavors like Lawless Lychee, Lemonade Can Grenade, Berserker Boysenberry . . . Esther picked one up. Pineapoplectic. There was a label in the smallest possible print. CAUTION: DO NOT CONSUME MORE THAN 500ML IN ANY 24-HOUR PERIOD.

“How many of these have you had?” Esther said, looking up from the label. There were ten cans scattered at their feet.

“Didn’t you read the label?” Daisy asked.

“I can’t. The letters are all blurry.” Something strange had happened to Susan’s face.

“Susan . . . are you crying?”

“These are not tears. This is what happens when you consume so much caffeine that your eyeballs melt.” Susan put her finger to her pulse. “Either my heart’s beating so fast that my pulse is nothing more than a single continuous beat, or I’m dead.”

Time for some drastic action.

“You stay here . . .” Daisy whispered to Esther before hurrying back to her room. Pushing the door shut, just to be safe, Daisy leaned over the box on the windowsill that contained Baby Gordon’s nest. It was a big, sprawling affair—an old box of printer paper in which Daisy had tucked an old towel, before layering shredded paper and leaves to form a soft, nestlike bed. Gently lifting the corners of the towel, she transferred the sleeping chick from box to bed, revealing what was hidden underneath.