Girls, on the other hand, are master idolaters. They are like Catholics in that way, or Satanists—all gilded shrine and ceremony, all theme and ritual and symbol. They hunger for the gaudy trappings of faith.

I took a few quick steps to catch up with them. “We only have a couple of minutes until our morning activity,” I said. Today it was some kind of team-building obstacle course the staffers had arranged on the lawn. I could see them milling around, wiping their foreheads and admiring their work. One section was constructed of patterned sheets stretched over the ground, like a child’s fort. Tires made a lacy pattern in the grass.

“Isn’t she sweet,” said Laurel.

We kept walking. I asked no questions. Gift horse, etc.

The path to the rock palm was easier in the light. Laurel sang a little as we hiked, a song I’d never heard before, something about turquoise dragons and tiger’s lightning. Her voice was pretty, lower than I’d thought it would be, and not breathless at all. Janet and Serena joined in at the bit about the fearless warriors. When we’d almost reached the tents, I noticed a sleek gray cat sitting in the grass by the side of the path. She turned toward us as we passed, and I saw that there was only a slit where her left eye should have been, like an empty buttonhole, with something milk white and unmoving behind it. I must have made a sound, because Serena looked back. “That’s Ava,” she said.

“Ava?”

“Avalokiteśvara,” she said. “Named after the bodhisattva, the personification of perfect compassion.”

“What happened to her eye?” I asked.

“Just lucky, I guess,” Serena said. “Ki ki! So so!” she shouted, and Ava disappeared into the bushes.

In the daylight, I could see that the rock palm was flat and clean and almost entirely edged by forest, except for the plane that jutted out over the drop, coming to a sharp point, as if accusing the horizon of something. I inched over; we weren’t at the summit by any means, but it was still dizzying to stand at the edge. I could see, across the valley, the weeping willow that once was a girl. I could see the ground too, far away, sharp yellow rocks and tangled bushes. It made me feel sick to look at it. I looked up instead; the sky was cloudless.

From behind a tree coated with minty lichen, Laurel pulled out three lawn chairs, their spongy plastic cracked and faded.

“Sorry, Olivia,” she said, setting them up in a row. “There isn’t one for you.”

“She can have mine,” Janet said.