“I’m really full, though. I’ll sit, I’ll lie down, and next thing you know, I’ll say I’m just resting with my eyes closed and be knocked out for three hours,” she admitted. For some reason, she expected the door to be locked. The knob turned easily under her hand, and she peeked inside. The small room smelled dusty and clean at the same time, and a giant circular beanbag took up most of it. Weird and definitely not couches. “Yeah, it’s way too comfy in there.”

“Why did you eat so much?”

Nicole’s head snapped around so fast it moved between moments. She looked him up and down, eyebrow daring him to try it. “Because I was hungry.”

Francis blinked in surprise. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Uh-huh.” Fat jokes were like earthquakes. You didn’t know one was happening until the ground started rolling beneath you. She’d heard her coworkers hissing behind her back, She can’t be that damn poor. Look at her. Obviously, she has money to spend on food.

The assumption that a person had to be emaciated to show they were starving was laughable. Bodies, genetics, were far too tricky for that. She was fat, she was constantly hungry, and food insecurity was an eating disorder waiting to happen. All true and existing simultaneously.

“Really. I swear.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not like that. I don’t say shit like that to people. I just meant you knew there’d be a game we’d have to play and you wouldn’t be able to sleep it off so”—he paused—“you know what? I’m sorry. Let’s just leave it at that. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

“We need to go to my room,” she said, purposefully ignoring his apology. Forgiveness was a suggestion, not a requirement. “I forgot she said you’d be here this morning—otherwise I would’ve brought your tablet to breakfast.”

“Oh, I don’t need that. I know my way around.”

“It’s a part of the game. We have to carry them. Jewel specifically asked me to give you yours.”

Francis exhaled, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. “Right. Come on,” he said, leading the way.

Their wing didn’t have a name on the map. Nicole had decided to christen it Crayola Hall to match the theme. Their tablets matched their room colors—her room landed in the shades between a pale yellow and a soft cream. It also had a door with a weird double lock and purple knob that led to Francis’s room. That would absolutely be staying locked.

“What’s this?” A small yellow package had been placed in front of her door. Nicole picked it up, weighing it in her hands.

“I don’t know,” Francis said.

“I wasn’t actually asking. It was rhetorical.”