“Men recognize the power of women’s beauty—and the danger in allowing them to harness it for themselves, without permission or intermediary. Beauty, Power, Danger is a podcast about the history of beautiful women in the arts, and an examination of the ways the men in their lives have sought to control their bodies, lives, and legacies for their own ends. I’m Christine L. Tompkins, and this is Beauty, Power, Danger.”

Lulu hits PAUSE. This seems like a lot for nine a.m., and especially for nine a.m. with a hangover. She’s not even sure how much it applies to her: No one is selling Lulu’s image but Lulu herself. Or does Flash technically own what she posts? She always forgets to check up on that. Either way, it’s not a problem she’s going to solve this morning.

She throws away the rest of her breakfast and goes back to sleep.

When she wakes up again, it’s early afternoon and someone is hovering uncertainly at the foot of her bed. Naomi looks like she was about to either sit down or sneak out, and Lulu happened to wake up in the middle of it.

So Nao is home from college for winter break.

Lulu’s head is so muddled that when she opens her mouth, what comes out is “No.”

“That’s how you greet your sister after months of separation?” Naomi asks. “No?”

“I’m tired!”

“That’s not surprising. This room smells like a distillery,” Naomi reports. “It smells like—a grow room. It smells like skunk, and feet, and death, Lu.”

“You know what a grow room smells like?”

Naomi ignores her. “I tried to stay up to see you last night. When the hell did you get in?”

Lulu groans and rolls onto her back. “Like, three?” she says. She’s really not in the mood for a lecture from her sister. “I’m very tired,” she says. “And hungover. And I want to be left alone.”

Usually being rude works on Naomi, but today she seems determined. “I bet you’re also hungry,” she says. “If you get up and take a shower, I can drive us to Nate and Al’s for brunch.”

Lulu’s stomach grumbles, and she remembers her gross, aborted breakfast. How likely is it that the house has grown new food in its cabinets while she was sleeping?

And what are the chances her mom will make anything remotely palatable for dinner?

Lulu sits up. “We should go grocery shopping, after, too,” she says.

“Already planning on it.”