Sara Claire sighs. “Yeah, they had us go to some honky-tonk, and Wes had to get Irina to hunt down a pair of cowboy boots for me. I thought we’d be going to a club or something, but I guess they’re painting me as the Southern belle and wanted to play it up. They even had me change out of this dress”—she motions down to her black sequined minidress—“and put me in, like, a tiny little denim skirt and a gingham bustier.”

“A bustier?” I ask.

“My mother is going to die when she sees me prancing around on television in a bra made out of a tablecloth, but at least I don’t have to be there to witness her demise.”

“Oh God,” I say. “I keep thinking about what’s going to happen when all the people who know me—like, really know me—see the show.”

“Oh, baby,” she says. “They’ve seen. It’s Tuesday. First episode aired tonight.”

I gasp. “You’re right! I swear, time is a meaningless circle in this place.” I wish I could talk to Sierra and all my friends back in New York. They probably think something is legitimately wrong with me or my life has turned into some kind of M. Night Shyamalan movie.

She shivers a little. “I’m trying not to think about it. Honestly, I hope I still have a job when I get home. I might be a daddy’s girl, but Daddy takes his business very seriously.” She takes a deep breath. “So anyway, we went dancing. And then the producers arranged this elaborate romantic dinner for just the two of us inside this really adorable old barbecue joint. There were rose petals and candles, and I got barbecue sauce all over my face—even though we really only ate for a minute so they could get a few shots of us eating ribs—and he did that whole cute thing where he wiped the sauce off my chin and then, that was it.”

My shoulders sink. “That’s it?”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry…. It’s just that this is so weird…. Like, I like you. In any other setting, we’d be friends. Actually, we are friends, but…I just don’t want to make it weird.”

I appreciate how careful she’s trying to be of me and my feelings, but this might actually be worse than just knowing. “I don’t think there’s a right way to do this. I think we just have to be honest and tell each other when it’s too much and we won’t talk about it anymore, but for now…you’re leaving me hanging! Give me the goods!”

She drops her chin to her shoulder and smiles. “He is a real good kisser. I was so into it, but I kept having to remind myself that we were being filmed, and that this was still for the cameras and that I couldn’t let myself get swept up in it all just yet. I’ve been through a lot, Cindy. I don’t know how much more hurt I can handle.” She bites down on her lip and leans in a little closer. “But then, while the crew was packing up and we were waiting for our cars, he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek…and I don’t know, but somehow it was the hottest thing. No one was looking. And you know how militant they are about leaving us alone with him.”

I nod. That’s like a Before Midnight golden rule.

She touches her fingers to her cheek and smiles faintly. “He’s funny too. Genuinely funny.”

I almost catch myself verbally agreeing with her as I remember our banter on the plane. “Well, maybe I’ll get to find out for myself.”

I help Sara Claire with the zipper of her dress, and once she’s ready to turn in, I click off my lamp and slide my sketch pad under my bed. I wonder for a brief moment if Henry opened the notebook in his bedroom and saw the imprint of my lips pressed inside.

After a few minutes, I’m unable to fall asleep, so I stand up and creep over to my suitcase to grab the walkie-talkie. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try.

“Are you okay?” Sara Claire whispers.

“Just running to the bathroom,” I say with the radio pressed to my chest.

“Do you want me to turn the light on?”

“No, no, no,” I sputter. “Go to sleep. I’ll be right back.”

I tiptoe out of the room and down the hall to where the expansive landing opens up to a balcony overlooking the courtyard and then pool.

I sink down to the ground, tucking my knees into my T-shirt, and hold the walkie-talkie to my mouth. Between railing bars, I can see a small light in the distance—the guesthouse where they’re tucking Henry away. Hiding him from us in plain sight. It’s a little bit genius, actually. The other women would be shocked to know that he’s been right under our noses all along.

“Hello?” I ask, still on the same channel as I was when Sara Claire came in.

I stare so intently at the light in the distance that my vision starts to blur.

When I was a kid, after Mom died, I was scared to sleep alone. I don’t know why specifically, but I think that I was scared I would wake up and Dad would be gone too. Over the next few months, Dad eased me back into my own bed. It started with me falling asleep in his bed and then him carrying me across the hall. Then him lying in my bed with me until I fell asleep, the scruff of his beard scratching against my forehead. Finally, as I started to go to bed on my own, Dad and I would leave our bedroom doors wide open so that I could call out to him anytime I needed him or just wanted to make sure he was still there.

“Hello?” I would call out, sometimes in the middle of the night. “Hello?”

Usually, he would answer immediately, or sometimes, if he was asleep, it would take him a few seconds. But he always answered. Always.

I hold the radio up once more, Henry’s light still glowing. “Hello?”

The closest thing to an answer I receive is his light flickering off, leaving nothing but darkness.

I go back to my bedroom and tuck away my secret radio before sliding back into bed. When I close my eyes, I hope Dad is there calling back to me, like he always was when I needed him most.

“Do I look okay?” I ask Beck.

She reaches past the camera and loops a piece of hair behind my ear. “Stretch your mouth. Do, re, mi, et cetera, et cetera. Your smile looks a little serial-killer-ish. Just relax. Ignore everyone else.”

Tonight they have us intermittently filming confessionals during this evening’s ball, so it’s hard not to pay attention to all the little dramas unfolding around me. Samantha is accusing Drew of stealing her eyelash glue. Addison is making the rounds and telling people she thinks Chloe is here for the wrong reasons. Jenny is outraged that craft services is serving shrimp cocktail since she’s allergic and thinks someone on the crew has it in for her. This place is a circus. (By design, of course.)