“Tell. Us. Everything.” Chelsea clapped her hands in time with the words.

“We’ve just been talking, mostly, but it’s been…intense.” Vera buried her eyes in her lap, hoping to conceal the realities she was holding back. “He lost his dad in the explosion, and his mom isn’t doing well.”

The girls nodded with understanding. “PTSD can last your whole life,” said Chelsea.

“The Sunshine Crew says we need to embrace our pain and stop fearing our lives.” Samantha’s voice sounded distant, almost dreamy. She stared out the window, as if in a trance. “Besides, the pain doesn’t really matter. It’s only temporary. Soon we’ll all be reborn. We should embrace it.”

Every word was a needle piercing Vera’s let’s-be-normal bubble.

“What?” Vera asked, her jaw hanging. The last time she’d been at work, Samantha was skimming chat rooms and recommending herbal teas. What happened?

“How’s he dealing?” Chelsea blurted, drawing Vera’s attention and silently pleading with her to ignore the Sunshine Crew.

No way.

“His mom is in really bad shape.” Vera’s voice was measured, choosing the best way to describe this. “She was in TSC too—”

“Hey, did you hear Steam Punk is playing at the Vine this weekend? We should go!” Chelsea pulled out her phone, full-on blabbering now. “Lemme see how much tickets are….”

“No,” Vera snapped, her voice stern. “There’s a lot you don’t know about TSC—”

“Like you know anything about us,” Samantha cut in, scratching her ear with nails chewed down to the little half-moons. Us. She said us. “If Maxwell’s mom is a believer, then he must know the truth. Death is natural and beautiful. You just need to open your arms and let the warmth of the next life embrace you. If you’re ready, and you sing from your heart, you’ll transition to a higher plane. That’s where my brother is now, and Maxwell’s dad.”

Vera was too late. She dropped her head into her hands, elbows on the table. That’s what Mr. Gonzalez said the day he lost his mind, not long before he died.

“It looks like general admission is only twenty-two dollars,” Chelsea jabbered, still feigning obliviousness as she booked their weekend plans.

What is going on?

“Sam.” Vera slapped the table. Chelsea lowered her phone, wincing as if she knew the truth that was coming and really didn’t want Vera to say it. Sorry, because this was long overdue. “I was going to phrase this more delicately, but I think I need to cut to the chase—you’re in a cult.” Vera paused, letting the words sink in. “TSC is not what you think. You’ve been brainwashed into worshipping death….”

Samantha’s blank eyes suddenly sparked with fire as they turned Vera’s way. She aggressively shook her head, chapped lips pursed to the side. “If by cult you mean a bunch of happy people working to be our best selves and refusing to ignore the truth of our existence—then yes.”

“Happy? You don’t look happy!” Vera pointed at the lavender bags under Sam’s eyes, and the protruding collarbones from what must have been significant and sudden weight loss. “This group isn’t about truth, it’s about death and darkness.”