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L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

Greta focused on its annoying jingle and how the mug burned
against her palms.
“Maybe you were right about the haircut,” Ash finally
said, settling next to her again. More likely it was Ash’s give-
me-a-job-or-die persona. You want Coke with that? Want me to
shove your face in the deep fryer?
“No,” Greta said. “It wasn’t the haircut. Don’t worry—
you’ll find something better. I will too.”

A knock on the door between their suite and Elgin’s.
Greta pointed to the oven. Ash scrambled to turn it off as
Greta eased the door open. There Elgin was, in the same
undershirt and fluorescent running shorts as before. Greta
didn’t want to talk about jobs, bills or rent right then. Just
Quiz Kings and toxic soup.
Elgin clasped his hands in front of him—a formal gesture ADVANCE READING COPY

for someone standing in that outfit. “Just wondering if you
kids had heard about that job yet,” he said.
Greta waved him inside. “Uh, that one didn’t work out,”
she said. “We’ll keep trying.”
Elgin’s wild-man eyebrows shot up, then dropped low.
“That right? Okay, keep me—” He stopped and looked
around. Greta noticed the dust on the tv stand and the pile of
blankets by the couch. “Sure is chilly down here. Is it always
like this?” He seemed to shrink, his clothes hanging looser

on his frame.
Usually colder. They’d had the oven on for a few minutes.
They nodded. But how could they complain, living there for
free at this point? Elgin walked farther into the living room,

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