Seven Days in June(47)

“Hiii!” she shouted. “I’m Charlii. With two i’s.”

“We all have two eyes,” Shane muttered.

“I saw that you guys had, like, an intense vibe? I thought you might need to relax, so I’m inviting you in! But hurry, we close at 3:00 p.m.”

“In where?” asked Eva.

“The Dream House. I’m the door girl.” Pink Ponytail gestured at a nondescript town house across the street. It had a black door with a sign reading THE DREAM HOUSE in white block letters. A Midtown-corporate woman in Ann Taylor separates stumbled out, yawning contentedly.

“Ohhh,” breathed Eva, facing Shane. “I read about this on Refinery29. It’s an art installation that’s like preschool naptime, but for adults. You drop by, meditate, sleep, chill. And then go back to work, refreshed.”

Shane was skeptical. Twenty years ago, he would’ve robbed every sleeping idiot in that house.

“Is napping around strangers safe?” asked Eva, damn near reading his mind.

“We have thorough rules,” insisted Pink Ponytail. “So, Dream House is a sound-and light-immersive experience. The rooms are dark except for soft lilac lights, and there’s incense and hypnotic music—but you’ll hear different tones whether you’re standing, sitting, or lying down,” she pitched. “Out here it’s chaos, global warming, Mike Pence. In there, it’s peace, art, freedom. It’s like a safe acid trip!”

A drugless high? Eva looked at Shane. Shane looked at Eva.



Ten minutes later, Shane and Eva were enveloped in a womb-like room, floating away.

By then, Charlii-with-Two-Eyes Sanchez had already uploaded her iPhone X pic of Shane and Eva onto the Cursed Facebook group—with a detailed description of the sighting. As backup events coordinator of the quite niche Latinx Bruja Association at Queens College, she was a massive fan of Eva’s girl-power witch—but as a lifelong New Yorker, she was far too cool to let Eva know.





Chapter 14





Girling About




“SPARROW ALWAYS DOES THIS,” WAILED PARSLEY KATZEN, WHO WAS TEN minutes into a diatribe. “She’s so thirsty. Such a try-hard.”

Audre was in no mood for this drama. All Parsley ever talked about was Sparrow Shapiro. And Riverdale. And now Audre was stuck sitting next to her for the next hour. As if detention could get much worse.

“I wore my new platform booties yesterday,” started Parsley, “and Sparrow goes, ‘Oh, I ordered the same ones from Urban Outfitters last weekend.’ Bitch, no you did not. You just need an alibi for when you come to school wearing my shit.”

Fighting off an eye roll, Audre gave the mildest response she could muster. “Maybe she did buy them. We all buy the same stuff. Look, we’re both wearing the Keith Haring Vans.”

“Vans are ubiquitous,” scoffed Parsley, who Audre suspected didn’t know how to spell “ubiquitous.”

This isn’t about Sparrow stealing your booties, thought Audre. This is about Sparrow stealing your bat mitzvah entrance song. As if anyone had the monopoly on “Old Town Road.”

Audre didn’t want to discuss this anymore. The good news was, distracting Parsley was easy. “Your brows are the cutest. Did you get them microbladed?”

“Yes! At Bling Brows. They’re good, right?”

“Iconic.” Audre stifled a yawn.

Parsley squealed and then checked her reflection in her iPhone. She stuck out her tongue, threw up a peace sign, and snapped a selfie. “I’m so cute, ugh.”

Perfect. Now Audre could mope in peace.

All day, she’d been holding back tears. But since her brand was Consistently Composed, none of the four other kids in Cheshire Prep’s strikingly low-stakes detention would’ve noticed.

Audre could count on one hand the number of times she’d been outwardly bummed at school. Or said a really inflammatory cuss word, like fuckshit. Or trashed a friend behind her back. No one ever knew how she really felt.

Audre Zora Toni Mercy-Moore was a leader, after all! And in the wrong hands, this social power could inspire cliquey shenanigans. Thusly, Audre always tried to seem positive, chill, sane. If her day sucked, she’d just go home, sketch something, read You Are a Badass: How to Stop Doubting Your Greatness and Start Living an Awesome Life, and cuddle in bed with her mom.

Audre’s emotions were hers to deal with. Other kids really just wanted to talk about themselves, anyway. If you let them, unobstructed, they trusted you. Besides, therapists should never introduce their feelings into a session. (She’d learned this in third grade while reading Freud’s A General Introduction to Psychoanalysis.)

So despite being stuck in detention and devastated, she was cool. Never mind that the day before, her mom had implied that Audre was the reason she had no life, no love. No real happiness.

I’m a robot, so you can be a butterfly.

Had she always felt like Audre was holding her back? Had her birth been a mistake?

Audre and her mom had never had an all-out brawl before. They were bickerers, not fighters. But yesterday, in Cheshire Prep’s main hallway, her mom had glared at her like she was the catalyst for all the stress, strife, and strain in the world.

I’m ruining her life, thought Audre. I can fix everyone I know but her.