It’s not that she can’t afford this stuff – it’s just fun to see what they can get away with. People in this city are not exactly the big-picture types. They are short-term planners, paycheque-to-paycheque survivors; they fight and scrape for everything they have and wake each new day to a battlefield of obstacles to overcome before going to sleep and waking up to another battlefield. But Anastasia is a visionary. Every decision she makes is another nail, another screw, another beam in her dream house; every house a new development in her city, every city a new pinpoint on the map of her world. She is a builder’s daughter – she doesn’t just see materials; she sees what they can become. This, more than anything, is what separates her from the rest of the good, honest, hard-working down-home northern folk she has grown up with, who she goes to school with, and who will eventually work for her. She knows that being good and honest and hard-working is just running on a hamster wheel. She would prefer to expend her energy in more productive ways.

She pours more vodka into the remaining three cans, then heads outside to the pool, handing one to Andy and one to Ryan. “Sorry,” she says to Dylan, taking a sip of the third. “There were only three left.” Dylan glares at her but doesn’t say anything.

“Were you watching that stupid video again?” asks Andy, climbing onto her chair and straddling her. Andy, he is not a visionary. But he is a useful sidekick. He is smart enough to know that is where his strengths lie. He also looks really good in a pair of swim trunks.

“I just find it so fascinating,” she says. “Although I think it missed the mark a bit, cinematographically. It could have been so much more.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt whoever filmed it was thinking about artistic camera angles.”

She wraps her hand around the back of Andy’s neck and pulls him down, kissing him hard, letting go when she’s had enough. “You’re right,” she says, wiping her mouth. “It’s all function over form. It’s just kind of tragic to see all that missed potential.” She wiggles her hips, signalling for Andy to get off her. He bounds over to the pool like a puppy and cannonballs past Ryan’s head, spraying the pool deck with water.

“Speaking of missed potential,” Ryan says, brushing the water off. “How come you didn’t tell London’s aunt about Adam Pelley?”

Anastasia rolls her eyes. “Really, Ryan? Didn’t you feel like she would figure it out for herself?”

Ryan shrugs. “She wasn’t exactly a rocket scientist.”

“Yeah, but I don’t exactly think that London has been discreet about everything.” She pulls out her phone, reverses the camera, and begins to reapply her lipstick. “It’s way more fun to see how things unravel, don’t you think?”