“I think I’m building a bomb or something.” He dropped to the floor and ran his hands through his clean, wet hair. “It doesn’t really make any sense.”

“And why is Benzo always so stupid?” she asked. “He punches you in the face while you’re handcuffed to a chair at the station?”

“Yup.”

“Won’t that, like, ruin the trial? Beating up the defendant?”

“I do what they tell me,” Spencer said. “I’m just the actor. I think they’re just writing that in because people want to see me get hit.”

He reached around and felt the back of his neck, as if the sensation of the milk shake running down it was still with him.

“Okay.” He rubbed his hands together. “I was looking at these earlier. I think I have them. Let’s try it.”

They had gotten through the scene four times when the door opened slightly and Lola poked her head inside.

“Hey,” she said. “We, um, need you guys for a second.”

“Need us for what?” Spencer asked. “How was Boston? Did Chip show you all the coloring projects he made in school?”

“We didn’t stay in Boston,” Lola said.

“No?”

“No. We went to Vegas.”

For once, Spencer looked like he might actually approve of a Chip and Lola adventure.

“Trip to Vegas,” he said, nodding. “I respect that. You did it right. Finally, Chip did something worth doing with that credit card of his. You totally beat anything I ever did. From now on, you are master.”

“Vegas?” Scarlett said. “That’s kind of…far.”

“It’s not that long of a flight,” Lola replied. “We did it on the spur of the moment.”

“I like it when you get crazy,” Spencer added. “Pretty soon you’ll be putting unironed sheets on the beds and forgetting to moisturize.”

“Spencer…”

“I mean it,” he said. “I think that’s great. It’s good for you. You need a wild phase. So what did you do? Did you get one of those rooms with a champagne-glass hot tub? Did you get one of those old-timey photos? Or one where you’re dressed like you’re in Star Trek? I love those. Chip would look so good dressed as a Klingon. I can see it now…”

“You should come down,” she said, and vanished.

Spencer and Scarlett looked at each other in bafflement.

“My trials were never public,” he said, shrugging. “Maybe we’re the jury?”

There was an air of manufactured calm in the Jazz Suite. Scarlett’s parents were sitting side by side in a stiff tableau. Lola was on one of the sagging armchairs that used to be in the Sterling Suite.

“Shut the door and sit down,” Scarlett’s dad said. “We all need to talk.”

“This is kind of awesome,” Spencer said in a low voice. “I never got this.”