IT WAS OUR FOURTEENTH DAY, AND THE START OF A NEW two-week cycle. A fresh group arrived that morning—and they happened to all be women. The five of them banded together, eating their meals outside on the picnic tables where no one ever ate, waking up a five forty-five to go on pre-coffee walks, sitting in the porch rocking chairs during the morning meditation instead of on the couches with everyone else. “Who do they think they are?” I said to Molly. “Showing up to yoga in sports bras and little-ass shorts. Poor Greg was snapping away all morning!”

In addition to heroin addict, alcoholic, and weekend cokehead, Greg was a sex addict. Not only was he having an affair, he was also obsessed with porn and couldn’t stop watching it. After group the day before, Richard had given him a rubber bracelet to wear around his wrist, and whenever he was lusting he was supposed to snap it against his skin to remind himself to stop. I heard the incoming women talking about Charlotte, how great they thought she seemed based on what I assumed was her appearance and her adorable intro. “I often wish I could be a horse,” she’d said to the group after morning meditation, “and just trot in a field all day.”

Everyone laughed. “Oh my God, totally” sounded throughout the room. “I really want to work with her as much as possible,” said Nina, an alcoholic-turned-love-addict. “I feel like we’d really connect.”

I glared at her while forking lima beans into my mouth. Did Charlotte just make everyone feel special? I resented that. I also hated the idea of Nina getting close to Charlotte, working with her one-on-one. What if Charlotte liked her better than me? “Honestly,” I said to Molly as she paged through a contraband issue of Us Weekly, “someone needs to put them in their place.”

Molly looked at me blankly. “Well, I’m not gonna do it. I think they seem really nice!”

I decided I would confront Nina myself, after I walked into the bathroom the next day and noticed that my towel was covered in mascara and foundation. “What the fuck!” I yelled so loud that the mirror above the sink vibrated. I ripped the towel off the rack and marched over to the main lodge, bursting into the living room and interrupting every conversation. “Who did this?” I held the towel in the air as if it were a manifesto.

“Sorry,” Nina called out. “I thought that was the house towel.”

“And if it were, you’d smear makeup all over it and make it yours?”

She said she’d wash the towel for me. I told her not to bother, throwing it in the trash on my way out for added impact.