I try hard not to swoon, not to lose my entire mind, but I’m mostly just walking around in straight-up awe. And I know, it’s just clothes. This is all trivial, just material things that will all become dust one day like everything else, but it’s fun to imagine living this way.

I take a quick look inside her bathroom. Inside, it smells like La Mer and leftover perfume, like flowers and heat. Surprisingly, it’s nothing crazy, just a collection of basic hair and skin products set on the counter. I peek inside her shower and there are no washcloths, just coordinating bottles of body wash and shampoo. Underneath the sink, there’s a woven basket with cotton swabs, organic tampons, a stack of K-beauty face masks and a small pink vibrator. My eyes linger on the vibrator and for a second I start to feel bad, like I’m violating her. But then I’m wondering how she sounds when she moans. If she’s a screamer or one of those psychopathic people who are totally silent except for when they climax. If she’s as good in bed as she looks like she would be. If she’s better than me.

I have to stop. It’s so stupid, so juvenile, what I’m doing, comparing myself to her like this. This isn’t me. I’m just... I don’t even—

A sound from down the hall makes me almost lurch out of my skin. I pause and strain to listen, but I don’t hear anyone approaching. It doesn’t matter. I can’t be in here. I rush to the door in this heavy-ass dress, hoping it will be Nate.

It’s probably Nate.

I peek outside the door before stepping out. No one’s here.

I’m heading back toward the staircase when I hear muffled voices. And then I recognize one of them. Taylor.

My feet are moving before I can stop them. A door at the end of the corridor is ajar, just the smallest crack, and as I get closer, their words get louder, clearer. Someone says something I can’t make out, then there’s an eruption of laughter.

Taylor’s laugh echoes through the walls—she has a huge laugh, loud and unrestrained, the laughter of a person without a real care in the world.

A new voice chimes in, gentler than the others. A guy. So there’s three of them.

I shouldn’t listen.

I listen.

“You seriously want to kill your dad?” the guy asks, his voice deadpan.

I lean closer, my hand pressing flat against the door.

I’m so startled, I forget to listen for a few beats. Then I lean closer, hoping I heard wrong. There’s more laughter, then—

“I know someone who did it,” the other voice says. I’m assuming the girl in the red dress.

“Did they get away with it?” Taylor.