I.

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Once upon The New York Times, Ellie Tramaine found a festival advertisement tucked between international business and gluten-free cooking.

"Look," she said. "A rave five miles west of Santa Monica. Colder than the dead of winter at night, but the wannabes, groupies, gangbangers, freaks and geeks will flock by the hundreds."

Her step-sister appeared from behind the refrigerator. Alice's neck jutted and hooked forward, like a swan's; the flattened top of her hair threatened to cap the ceiling as she walked. The camper was too small for the three of them: Ellie, Alice, and Rowan, the eldest sister. Necklaces swung from command hooks on the shower door. Tupperware containers of dry cereal stacked like building blocks next to plastic bins overflowing with shoes.

"I've got tickets in the envelope drawer." Alice poured milk onto her cereal. Beads tangled in her dandelion hair. "It's a four-hour drive, but – worth it."

Ellie flipped the advertisement face-down. She had crossed the threshold of second trimester, past the vomiting, the ever-present morning sickness, but on rainy days bile crept back up her throat. Toes curling into her slippers, she said: "So you're going, then?"

"Of course, darling." Her sister smiled, teeth green through marshmallow film. "You're welcome to come if you want. You could make a video – Five Things Not to Say to a Native Californian – or: Watch Makeup Melt in the Heat."

"My channel needs updated."

"I know. So you're coming, then?"

Hand on her stomach, Ellie rubbed her heel against the threadbare blue carpet. She was thinking of Alice's last expedition, and its near-fatal end. Duane – their step-brother – had followed her to their hotel and cut the pink streaks from her bangs. For three weeks afterward he refused to respond to her text messages. His best friend, Frederick, had tried to soothe her: it's a phase, Elle, belle, just a phase, let him fight it off, let him breathe. And because phases were apt to disappear and breathing sometimes turned toxic, it had been Frederick who moved into Duane's absence, holding up her fragile broken frightened mind as her step-family fell apart.

Disappearing now – when Duane was looking for her, malice on his mind – sounded dangerous. And even more so now, that she had a business to take care of.

"I'm coming," she said, and curled her lips into her mouth. "Tomorrow, we should leave."

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