Anders snorted. “As if they’d eliminate a winner? Lyra took our season. That means she’s untouchable, at least until the second week.”
“Cynic,” accused Lyra.
“Realist,” countered Anders.
I laughed. I was back among the people who understood this side of me, the side that wanted to cha-cha rather than negotiate peace between disparate cryptid communities. Pax caught my eye and nodded, agreeing with my delight. His situation wasn’t quite like mine, but it was close enough that we both knew what it was like to hide half of ourselves from the world. We were still hiding, even here, but at least we could let our less-seen sides come out for a while.
“Hello?”
The voice was female, and coming from our living room. I stopped laughing, immediately tense. Pax and Anders turned, still blocking the doorway, ready to defend us from whatever might be coming. Then Anders groaned and stepped to the side.
“Ladies, it’s for you,” he said.
Lyra and I exchanged a glance before we stood and walked to the door, poking our heads out. There, standing in the middle of our living room like she belonged there, was Jessica. She had her arms crossed, and looked annoyed, probably because we’d made her wait.
“The door was open,” she said, before either of us could say anything. “You probably shouldn’t leave it open, it’s like an invitation for people to come in and steal shit.”
“Or to just come in,” I said, stepping out of the bedroom. “How can we help you?”
“You’re Valerie, right?” She looked me up and down, and then sniffed, like she’d just determined that I wasn’t a threat. I bristled. “You were on the season after mine. I don’t know if you watched the show before you tried to use it to get famous, but I came in fourth my year. I would’ve won if I hadn’t been injured.”
“How nice for you,” I said. “We’ve met before, remember? You were Sasha’s assistant during our season, where I came in second, if we’re playing that game.”
“I’m Lyra,” said Lyra, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Hi again, Jessica. Long time no irritate. I came in first. How can we help you?”
“I’m a really light sleeper, and Adrian said I should find someone who’s willing to trade with my roommate and sleep on the couch.” Her tone made it clear that her original roommate hadn’t seen being kicked out of the bedroom as an acceptable solution. “It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t get enough sleep and got eliminated, you know? I just need to find someone who wants to be a good sport.”
“There are no good sports in this apartment,” said Anders. He managed to sound almost apologetic, like he was really sorry, deep down, about our lack of sportsmanship. “Sorry. I mean, if you wanted to crash on our couch, I’m sure we could work something out, but Lyra and Val are besties . . .”
Lyra and I linked our little fingers and held them solemnly up for inspection.
“. . . and Pax has this whole thing about sleeping in the nude, which means we need to have a door to close between the world and his magnificence. Maybe try the next apartment down? They might be suckers. You never know.”
Jessica looked, briefly, like she was going to stomp her foot in frustration. “This is the last apartment!”
“Well, then pray that whoever winds up with a room to themselves after next week is willing to trade with you.” Anders dropped the sympathetic act. “Of course, you’ll have to do this again once we’re back down to an even number of girls. So I don’t think you’re going to have much luck.”
“I won’t forget this,” said Jessica, and spun on her heel, stalking out of the apartment.
“Uh-huh, kiss noise, bye now,” Anders called after her. He rolled his eyes as he looked around at the rest of us. “Can you say ‘diva’? How does she survive in the real world?”
“I have no idea, but I don’t have to care,” I said. “Come on. Let’s check out the kitchen.”
Hours later—after a group barbecue in the courtyard, during which dancers I’d never met sucked down chicken breasts and tofu dogs like they were about to be made illegal, and everybody was introduced to everybody else, and just as promptly forgot everybody else’s names—the apartment was settling peacefully into sleep. Lyra was still sitting up in her bed, writing the day’s events out in her diary, but that was no big deal; she knew about my nocturnal habits. She looked over, a tolerant expression on her face, as she heard the window slide open.
“Going for a run?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to look sheepish. As far as Lyra knew, I was an insomniac with a fondness for night running. I’d promised her repeatedly during our original season that I wouldn’t be in any danger, and after several nights when I’d returned home uninjured and capable of competing, she had grudgingly chosen to believe me.