Page 73 of The Favorite Sister

With its blue-and-white-pinstriped wallpaper and toile linens, I feel like I should be wearing pearls to sleep in the downstairs guest bedroom. Closer, I realize that instead of a pattern of regal-looking people and animals in a classic landscape setting, the sheets are covered in skulls and skeletons, and that those aren’t stripes on the wall, they’re femur bones. I zoom in with my phone and send a picture to Arch, flicking a low-battery notice out of the way.This is where Jen has stuck me to sleep. Creepshow.

Almost immediately three typing dots appear. I plop onto my back on the bed, stretching an arm behind my head, too lazy to find my charger in my bag. Arch responds with three monkeys covering their eyes.I wish I could see the creepiness in person but I don’t think I can make it after all. Up to my elbows. Do u mind?

I pull a face that is much more disappointed than I feel. In truth, I’m happy to keep Arch as far from this circus act as possible.I’ll miss you!!! I’m not mentioning it to anyone, though. They all think you’re coming so I get my own room. I don’t want to get stuck with Kelly. I’ll probably let it slip in my sleep.

My screen is white and judgmental for a few moments. Then, Arch lets her real feelings be known. She deserves to know.

I type with a sigh,I know... but if I tell her before we’re finished filming it will be a part of the show. And I owe it to her to keep it from being a storyline. I don’t want to humiliate her any more than necessary.

Arch texts back,Any chance you haven’t told her yet because you’re not sure this is the right decision?

I close a second low-battery warning and text back at righteous speed,It’s not UP to me. A girl almost DIED after being struck with one of our bikes. And it wouldn’t have happened if Kelly had agreed to pay THIRTY-SEVEN DOLLARS EXTRA for the thumb grips.The investors want a blood sacrifice, or they’re going to pull out. And Kelly is the one who is accountable. She’s got to go.

Arch doesn’t respond for so long my attention wanders to the lights prod has taped to the corners of my room. When I check my screen again, I realize my phone has died.

“Kids!” Lauren calls down the hallway. “Dinnertime!”

I find my charger in my purse and plug my phone into the wall. Outside, the rain returns, as immediate as a gun going off at the starting line of a race.

A fire chews wood in the sitting room, because that makes sense on an eighty-degree evening with 95 percent humidity. The low-for-effect coffee table is covered in a tray of desserts that, like dinner, have to be explained before consumed. I tune out while Jen moves her hand around the board, listing ingredients, but a lot of dates and cashews are involved. Kelly grabs a black bean brownie and pops it into her mouth.

“Mmmm,” she lies, getting to her feet. “So good. Just running to get a sweater real quick.” She makes abrrrrrnoise as she trots up the stairs.

Lauren is on the floor, her back against the raised white brick hearth, laptop on her thighs, blond hair cast orange by the fire. Marc circles the perimeter of the room to zoom in on her screen when there is a brief burst of a familiar voice. Lauren rushes to lower the volume.

I lean over the arm of the sofa. “What is that?”

“Just your Mrs. and Mrs. quiz.” Lauren sets the laptop on the coffee table, turning it so that the group has a view of Arch paused on the screen, eyes wide and mouth agape, the most unattractive I’ve ever seen her. Outside, thunder grumbles softly—or is that my unhappy stomach?

“What the fuck is a Mrs. and Mrs. quiz?”

“It’s to see how well you know each other,” Lauren says. “You both answer the same set of questions about the other and then we see if they match.”

Answering questions about my personal life in front of Jen Greenberg sounds about as much fun as replacing my toilet paper with kale. “Why don’t we just do this tomorrow when Arch is here so you don’t get electrocuted?”

“Please.” Lauren presses her palms together and repeats the word in quick little puffs, like a child begging for ice cream before dinner. “Come on!” she demands when I groan my reluctance. “What else are we going to—”

She jerks her head in the direction of the front door opening. My stomach plummets as I take in the figure in the classic Burberry raincoat. Stephanie removes the hood of her slicker and shakes free her hair, which is as perfect as it ever was. Her pedicure is fresh and her hips look like two towel hooks, holding up her white jeans. Her face is carefully made up and haggard.

“Oh my God,” Lauren says, getting up to greet her. “You look amazing.”

“I’m on the most hated woman in America diet,” Steph says, returning Lauren’s hug, grateful someone has seen fit to give her a warm welcome. The rest of us are staring at her in stunned silence.

“Lis, is it okay that I’m here?” She seems to hold her breath.

Lisa assesses Stephanie for a few suspicious moments.

“I just wanted to close out the season with a little bit of my dignity still intact.” Stephanie laughs, self-deprecatingly. It is a rare thing to see—Steph laughing at herself. Maybe what happened to her has humbled her, slightly.

“Do you want the makeup person to paint on a black eye for you?” Lisa jokes, and Stephanie’s face drops. “Jesus,” Lisa rolls her eyes, “I’mkidding. Just steer clear of motorized vehicles, please.” She snaps her fingers at one of the audio guys to mic Steph up.

Jen, little weasel, adds, “You can room with Laur.”

Lauren looks panicked. “But Kelly is—”

“She can move her stuff into my room,” Jen says through a hard smile.

“Or you could stay in Brett’s room?” Lauren suggests, her voicehigh. Stephanie may seem subdued, but you’d be a fool not to sleep with one eye open next to her. “Arch doesn’t come out until tomorrow.”