Here’s what I have learned. In 2002, Harvard researchers found that Himalayan monks practicing tummo, also known as inner fire, had the ability to raise their body temperatures as much as seventeen degrees at will. For a sacred, secret practice, they weren’t particularly precious about it: sometimes, in their spare time, the monks would dip blankets in ice water, drape them over their bodies, and hold contests to see who could dry them the fastest. (Monks, I’ve noticed, love this kind of thing. The closer you are to enlightenment, it seems, the more easily amused.) Tummo is thought to not only allow meditators control over their bodies’ metabolic processes and hormones, but also to enhance their strength, sexuality, and creativity. And yes, their ability to levitate—but not only that. Serena’s mother had been right all along. “Inner fire is the real chocolate!!” wrote Lama Zopa Rinpoche. “It is the direct path to enlightenment that you have heard about. It is the secret key that opens you to all realizations.” However, it is widely agreed that tummo should not be taught to beginners. The techniques are simple enough to understand, but it is dangerous to attempt without training and competent supervision. Of course, there are always those who ignore such warnings, and forge ahead without bread crumbs or ropes or guides. But there are tolls, you know, on the roads that go off the edges of the map. Here be monsters, etc.

The next day, I found myself sitting on the lawn alone after breakfast, though close enough to Harriet and Nisha that I could hear them talking about which tattoo Harriet should get next, and where—a white lotus on her rib cage, a dinosaur on her wrist, a bear, an eye, a ball of twine, her shoulder, her ankle, the smooth place behind her ear. I was only half listening to them. I could see Janet out at the edge of the white sand driveway, about as far away as you could get from the main building while remaining in sight. She hadn’t been at breakfast. She had her hand on one of the boulders, and she looked, with her purple hair and black clothes, like an alien astronaut who had landed on an unknown planet. Alien Janet: blinking impassively at an unfamiliar world, observing its dress codes and government structures and waste protocols, making dry comments under her breath. This was essentially how she behaved anyway, I realized. She kicked at the sand and a little cloud bloomed at her toe. I felt very fond of her in that moment. I didn’t understand why she would say that Serena didn’t care about us. Serena cared, she did, and especially about Janet. I was overwhelmed by the urge to tell her this, except I knew I would ruin the scene by entering it, so I stayed where I was.