As the days passed, I began to dream about food. I found that I missed the sensation of eating even more than I missed the taste or nourishment. The fact that we had to fill our plates to fool the staffers didn’t help: we stared at our rolls and pads of butter and slices of quiche, and then slowly transferred them into our napkins, and our napkins into the trash. In the mornings, Laurel would bring over a bowl of sugar cubes and we would dip them into our tea, watching the smooth white squares soak up the liquid, become warm and delicate. We sucked the tea from the cubes; they dissolved in our mouths. We didn’t tell Serena. It was cheating, yes, but it was only cheating a little. I still felt light. I still felt empty. Fasting was like living in a series of tiny victories, with the feeling of building toward something—every meal we missed was like a coin saved, a moral claim on the future. Our fortune would buy us nothing but lightness.

Luke missed three more days of rota. I pocketed three more notes. When I finally showed up to find him on the bench, waiting for me, my heart flounced maniacally. Yes, flounced: flounced is a perfect word for itself—extravagant, absurd, a little embarrassing, like feeling. While we’re on the topic: thronged, fluttered, quivered. Being hungry made it infinitely worse. I tried to make it stop as I approached. I was lighter now, I reminded myself. I was closer. I wasn’t here for Luke. I was here for levitation.

“I want you to forgive me,” he said by way of greeting. He pulled up his knees and hugged them with his arms. It was such a childish posture, like a little boy fitting himself into an even littler hiding space.

“You kissed me,” I said. Oh, but how could I believe in anything but this? It was right in front of me, and I could touch it.

“I am trying to be tender,” he said. “I am trying to be open to everything I can, to let myself be utterly raw, barehearted. My teacher says this is the way to true fearlessness. But I shouldn’t have let things go so far. Even though we both know it was you who kissed me.” He smiled and took my hand and held my fingers almost to his mouth. I imagined them inside of it, all five in a fist. “So, Buddha Hands. Forgive me?”

“Maybe I will,” I said. “If you help us.” For once, I remembered where my loyalties lay.