She and I seem to be playing a game of Last Woman Standing. So far I’m doing okay in that I haven’t consumed any alcohol; then again, I don’t think she has either. I’m clearly not going to get her drunk enough to affect her performance tomorrow, but perhaps I can tire her out. I had an early night last night, and juggling three jobs has given me plenty of practice at functioning on just a few hours’ sleep. Hopefully she won’t hold up as well.

She’ll still beat me.

We dance until the music stops. Security herds us toward the exit. Saskia and I exchange looks as we step onto the street.

Tension crackles between us. Tomorrow we’ll be archrivals. My attempts to scope her out earlier went nowhere. She gave nothing away. But I can’t see either of us taking first or second. Odette will probably win, followed by Claire Donnahue. Claire was blasting it in the pipe today. I didn’t see her tonight. She must have stayed in—smart girl. Anyway, unless Saskia screws up or by some miracle I land a Crippler, she will take third. Some of the other girls were busting serious moves earlier, too. I doubt I’ll even make fourth. My only hope is to try a Crippler. Or at least make Saskia think I will.

We approach Saskia’s place. Someone is outside, crouching by the mailbox. Julien. What’s he doing? He straightens when he sees us. There’s something in his hand—a marker pen. He’s written something in French across her name on the mailbox panel.

“What does that mean?” I say.

“‘Frigid bitch,’” Saskia says.

Julien sniggers. I stride up to him and thump him hard in the gut. He goes down. Finally a benefit of having a big brother. Jake and I scrapped all the time and I learned from a young age that if I was going to hit him, I needed to do it properly so I at least had time to run to Mum.

Saskia’s looking at me with new eyes. “Why did you do that? You don’t even like me.”

I’m not even sure myself. “I was the only person who didn’t hit anyone tonight. I felt left out.”

She lets out a peal of laughter. Julien still hasn’t gotten up.

Saskia pulls out her door keys. Damn. I’m supposed to be tiring her out. I remember what Dale said about Curtis earlier. Mind games. I’ve never been the sort of person to play them, but it’s that or slink off home to cry. What would Saskia least expect right now? Since we’re so similar, logic suggests that what would surprise me would also surprise her.

Friendship.

“I just realized,” I say. “You’ve never seen my place. Do you want to?”

She turns suspicious. “I should probably get some sleep.”