“For your information, these aren’t pajamas. I happen to be fond of rompers and onesies. I wear them all the time—outside, inside, it’s all the same to me.” Stella retrieved her Jewel-gifted satchel and tablet and slipped on her indoor shoes. “I never lose, by the way. I look forward to seeing your face three days from now after I’ve won.” She selected the map app on her tablet and typed Floral Sunroom into the search bar. A white trail of dots appeared on the screen to lead the way to their destination.

FRIDAY, 7:45 A.M.

Nicole’s map instructed her to make a series of left turns, convincing her she was running in circles, but no, there was a staircase finally. Her heart thudded in her ears, breath coming in short quick gasps while she loped down the stairs, two at a time.

Before Nicole arrived, part of her worried that she’d only meet people like Fantasia, who would have already made assumptions about her. They’d assume she was exactly like the character she played in her videos—expect her to entertain them and be witty 24/7 as their emotional-support comedian. Or hate her for some irrational reason. She’d read comments from voyeurs who said they were just waiting for someone to “expose” her.

But then there was Stella.

While Harlow had practically shouted her username and sweetly fangirled over JadeTheBabe’s videos, Stella had introduced herself and said, “I don’t care about any of that. I’m just here for the party.” Her mocking smile was almost too much. “Congratulations on your face, by the way. It’s a good one.”

Nicole’s tablet beeped softly. She stopped to catch her breath against the wall beside the propped-open door. Jewel’s voice drifted into the hall—and someone answered. Definitely not Stella. Or Harlow or Luna. It didn’t sound like Alex, but if Luna wasn’t in there, she doubted he’d be found anywhere without her.

Outside, the gray morning looked beautifully mysterious. Fog drifted through the trees and clung to the grass. It must have taken a lot of water to keep the grass that green these days.

Many summers ago, Nicole’s dad had all the grass removed from their front yard, replacing it with black and white stones, and cacti, because of the water shortage. “We can’t do much, but we can do this,” he had said. That was her dad—always thinking of ways he could personally make a difference, even if his changes amounted to the equivalent of a tiny drop of water in an ocean.

Why did the onus of saving resources fall on them when places like Jewel’s backyard did more damage than their tiny lawn ever would have done?