“You should probably sit upwind, then,” Catherine said, standing with Annie to switch spots with us. Once she sat down, leaning onto the tree stump behind her to get comfortable, she added, “The key to sneaking in after curfew is that you have to sneak out, too.” I could see Ruthie taking a mental note for next time. “Make sure your name is on that sign-in sheet so Brigid doesn’t think twice.”

“Thanks,” Ruthie said.

“You’ll get the hang of it.”

Andrew passed us two blue cans, freezing my fingertips the second I touched them. They didn’t even have a cooler; the air was doing all the work. I slipped my nail under the ring and pulled. The satisfying pop seemed to echo through the forest as it gave and opened, a layer of foam slowly crawling out. I’d never had beer before. Just hard liquor.

“Any other tips?” Ruthie asked, taking her first sip.

Catherine and Annie exchanged a look, no doubt deciding how much they wanted to tell us; how many of their strongly held secrets they wanted to divulge.

“Make friends on the first floor,” Annie joked, motioning toward Catherine and herself. “So you have a window you can sneak into.”

“And don’t dress for a college party in the movies. If you’re spotted sneaking back in and you’re wearing a skirt that doesn’t cover your knees, no one will believe your excuse.”

“And have an excuse ready. You needed some air. You work late in the dining hall. Something.”

Ruthie and I listened carefully, noting each piece of advice. Use the sign-in sheet to our advantage. Make Brigid your friend, not your enemy. Even the tiniest violation gets Brigid’s attention.

I watched as Ruthie’s smile got wider and wider the more we engaged, the more friendly the group of us became. She knew better than to bring her camera here, especially on our first time—that’s when it goes from recording memories to recording evidence—but I could tell she was taking pictures of everything with her mind. She was too happy to ever let herself forget all the details.

“The thing is,” Catherine said, white smoke snaking out of her mouth with each syllable, “if you want to break their rules—or break their system entirely—you have to blend in. To break their rules, you have to become one of them.”

SEVEN

New York Times Sarah had managed to make a reservation at Le Coucou, a place famous for their bite-sized entrees and the ego boost forged when sauntering past the catastrophic line its walk-ins only policy forms outside. I guess touting the New York Times had multiple benefits.

The hostess, ostensibly fresh and young in her oversized wiry glasses and blown-out light brown hair, walks me through the dining room into the back where Lena sits next to a large factory window looking out onto the dimming Lafayette Street.