“Hey,” Ros said. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

They hugged me then. They smelled like the woods. Like dirt, in a comforting way, that reminded me of building our fairy towns when we were little kids.

“Sorry,” I said. “I know I’m being sensitive.”

“You and my stomach have so much in common,” Touchstone said, and I laughed a little at the joke.

“Sorry we upset you,” said Ros. “Sweet Celia.”

They smiled at me. It was then that I noticed something different about them.

“What happened to your necklace?” I said.

They reached for their neck, as if confirming their chain’s absence.

“Oh,” Ros said. “I took it off. It was bugging my skin.”

“You’ve been wearing it forever. It started bugging your skin now?”

“Yes,” Ros said.

“Can that happen?”

“I don’t know,” said Ros. “It did.”

“Huh. That’s so weird. Are you okay? Do you need, like, Neosporin or anything? I packed some.…”

“It’s fine,” said Ros. “I’m fine.”

“Should we focus on this bird?” said Touchstone.

“Yeah,” said Ros. “Good idea. I don’t want any of us to be late for work. Maybe we leave him for now and figure out what to do when we get back?”

“Okay,” I said, still trying to work out what happened with Ros’s necklace, still doubtful that you could really develop an allergy to something you wore daily. “Sure.”

In a way, Ros was telling the truth about their chain. Your skin could be fine with something for years and years, and then, suddenly, for no reason at all, you could become allergic to it overnight. Years later, long after we left Lovesick, I had a ring that I loved so much I never took it off. Then one day the skin grew scaly and red beneath it, and my body rejected it even as my heart still loved it.

Later that day, I hiked out to the Service Spot and checked in with my parents. It was good to hear their voices—so good, in fact, that I forgot about the bird waiting on the patio. I told them excitedly about the good things in my life: gearing up for Into the Woods. Phoebe working on the yeti costume. How Ros and Touchstone had made us veggie burgers.

When I hung up, I texted Ros: I just remembered there’s hydrocortisone cream in the first aid kit I brought. If your neck is bugging you.

They gave my text a thumbs-up.

It was a simple, polite interaction. But I spent a long time in the clearing staring at it, trying to figure out why I felt so awful. Something was off between me and Ros, and I suspected that something looked a lot like Jess Orlando.