I began to hang around Harriet and Nisha, trying to catch up on their inside jokes, to remind them that they’d once been my friends, or almost. They mostly ignored me too. Girls who try to elevate themselves and fail are never much loved by those they crash-land among. With no reason not to, I began attending every activity again, and I could see that these weeks at the Center had been good for most of the other girls: they seemed relaxed, happy. All that mindfulness therapy, contemplative art, meditation—the girls who had really transformed were the girls who hadn’t tried to force it.

I started eating again. Oatmeal and blueberries, kale and black beans. I felt heavier than I ever had in my life.

There was no more tummo practice. No more nights attempting levitation. There was no more Serena coming by the garden unannounced, or at least not when I was there to see it. There was only me, moving dirt around, grinding my molars into paste, saying nothing, my hairline burning as I pruned. There was only Luke, asking concerned questions, but letting more and more time pass between them.

I blamed him, of course. If he had simply done what Serena had asked, had bent to her desire like the rest of us, none of this would be happening. Instead, we would be together on the rock palm, holding hands, all four of us with our feet in the air. All five of us, maybe.

“Isn’t there anything else you can do?” I asked him once. All I wanted was to go back, to repair whatever ineffable structure had been broken. “Some other teaching? Couldn’t you at least show us, so we can see?”

“Trust me, I’d love to,” he said. “She’s driving me crazy.” So she was still seeing him, at least. She was still trying, without me.

“Then do it,” I said.

“I would,” he said. “At this point, I would give her anything she wanted.” He shuddered a little—at what? This admission? His own desire? “But like most people,” he said, “I have no earthly idea how to levitate.”

“Come on,” I said. “She saw you do it.”

“I’ve heard that story,” he said. “I wish it were true.”

It took me a few seconds to understand what he was saying. Did that mean Serena had imagined it? Had she misremembered—or had she been lying all along? “What about tummo?” I asked at last.