Joy gasps, freezing in place, mouth hanging open while the water continues to run down her body. All at once she realizes that’s the root of her irrepressible anxiety—isn’t she purposefully plotting to do the same thing now? Or attempting to? As much as Joy inherently dislikes Summer by circumstance, she doesn’t deserve to have her life potentially ruined, especially not by Joy’s doing.

But giving up without trying isn’t an option either.

Joy shuts off the water and steps out of the shower. After drying off, she lugs one of her suitcases to the center of the room to find something to wear. She decides to go with a pair of high-waisted black jeans and a blue sweater crop top with short sleeves. Her makeup somehow survived both the lake and the shower, but she removes it and goes for a more natural look—just concealer, powder, mascara—with black lipstick because she just can’t help herself. She takes a few pictures, saving them to edit so she can post her outfit of the day later.

Switching apps, she calls Grace, who answers on the second ring.

“Finally, Jesus.” Grace glares at her through the screen. “What are you doing?”

Joy laughs. If Grace had a catchphrase, that’d be it. It’s never hi, I love you, so glad you made it there safely. It’s always what are you doing? Straight to the point and ready to jump right in.

“I just got out of the shower.” Joy explains the car ride and her brief swimming session.

“If you don’t go get a damn therapist—what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.” Joy begins to pace the room. “That’s why I’m calling you. I’m way more stressed out than I thought I’d be.”

“Of course you are,” Grace says kindly before sighing. “They seem nice, though. Are they?”

Joy shrugs. “So far?” She thinks of Fox in the car, changing the subject because he correctly guessed she needed it. That was definitely nice. And strangely observant.

“Summer seems a little weird but she’s probably fine. Malcolm has the oddest taste in women, I swear.” She rolls her eyes. “That’s why he’s not into you. You’re too perfect.”

Joy scoffs and plops down on the bed. “No one delivers a backhanded compliment quite like you.”

“I know, right? But I do mean it—you’re perfect to me. If you’re serious about wanting to date now, it won’t take long for someone else to see it too.”

“I never said I wanted to date in general. And I don’t want someone else to see it—”

“I know, you want Malcolm. Gross. I just can’t respect that choice so don’t ask me to. I won’t do it.”