Book 3: Morning

Eleni

“BWAH! BWAH! BWAH!”

The screaming alarm—alarms—rip me out of sleep far too early. I grope for the nearest one, which turns out to be my phone, and silence it before even opening my eyes. Another keeps whining somewhere else in the room, and I groan.

Last night is a blur of strobe lights, penis-shaped candy, and mob wives dancing like drunk sorority girls. As much as I’m going to kill whoever set all these alarms, at least my no-drinking rule means it’s only regular awful, not hungover awful.

Another groan answers mine, and I shoot upright.

I’m—where the fuck am I? Big, soft bed. Early morning light in the window. It’s shaped like the Staten Island house, but the colors—pink walls, purple bedspread, rainbow throw pillows….

The second groan issues from the floor again, and I glance over the edge. Gianna lies there, makeup smeared across her face and hair falling out of the updo she slaved over last night. She looks distinctly