We return to the beach just in time to see the sky brighten into a mural of pastel colors over the ocean. As the rest of the teams begin to pack up their sleeping bags, I lean against the wooden gate next to Will and stare out at the waves, happier than I’ve ever been. Though I know it’s a cliché to watch the sun rise over the ocean with someone you’ve just kissed, that doesn’t make it any less romantic. I wish he’d kiss me again now, but I understand why he’d be more hesitant in front of the cameras and the other teams. So I press my shoulder against his, knowing I’m starting my day right where I should be, and wait for that first perfect sliver of sun to slip over the horizon and bathe us in gold.

But it doesn’t come. The sky is pretty light now, and I finally say, “So … where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“The sun.”

Will stares at me. “Seriously? We’re facing west, genius.”

So much for romance. I try to think of a snappy comeback so he’ll think I was kidding, but before I can, a Greek man with a droopy mustache arrives along with two producers. I’m grateful for the distraction, and we move away from the gate so he can unlock it. When he pulls a stack of pink envelopes out of his back pocket, all twelve of us pour out onto the sand and surround him like puppies eager for our breakfast. Miranda’s standing near me, and I try to catch her eye, but she avoids my gaze like I’m not even here.

Well, fine. If that’s how today is going to be, I’ll ignore her right back. If she wants self-sufficient Claire, that’s what she’ll get. I turn my back to her as I rip open our instructions, just to make a point.

Before a Greek wedding, it is traditional for a bride to pull a teenage boy into her lap and bite a biscuit ring hanging around his neck. In this challenge, the male competitor must wear a pastry ring around his neck, and the female competitor must eat it off of him without using her hands. You must complete this challenge while riding double on a horse. Proceed five hundred meters north along the beach, where you will find your pastries and mounts.

For a second, I stand there considering the summer I was supposed to have, serving soy chai lattes to the yuppies of Braeburn. In my wildest, weirdest dreams, I could never have imagined that I’d end up on horseback on television, licking pastry crumbs off Will Divine. I so wish I could press pause and call Natalie.

“Do you think these bizarre wedding traditions are even real, or is the network just inventing stuff to make us look stupid?” Will asks as we head up the beach.

I automatically reach for my phone so I can look it up before I realize it’s in New York, not in my back pocket. “I miss the Internet,” I say.

“In any case, this is totally unfair. How come I don’t get any pastry? I’m starving.”

“They must know you’re watching your girlish figure,” I say, and he sticks out his tongue at me. It’s amazing how relaxed I feel right now—four days ago, I would have been dying of embarrassment at the thought of this challenge. Maybe I still would be if I were paired with someone else. But things are different with Will, who has welcomed my closeness even off camera. Now that he’s shown how much he genuinely likes me, this doesn’t seem scary at all.

Will and I choose a brown horse with a white star on its nose, and he stays with its handler while I retrieve our pastry ring. I’m not sure what to expect, but they turn out to look like necklaces sculpted from glazed pretzel dough. There’s some confusion as the producers distribute them—apparently, Tawny needs a special gluten-free ring—but I finally return to Will with the pastry. It’s still warm and dripping with honey, and it smells amazing. “So, I guess I should just … put this on you,” I say. “You might want to take your hat off.”

Will tucks the lucky hat into his pocket, then pokes at the dough to test its consistency. “Oh God, this is really sticky.”

I’m not sure what comes over me, but I suddenly want to see how far I can push things between us. “Maybe you should take your shirt off, too,” I say.

If Will is surprised by my boldness, he doesn’t show it. He just smiles and says, “You’re in charge,” then peels off his shirt and tosses it onto his pack. The other day at the pool, I was careful to look away before he caught me staring. But this time, I unabashedly drink in the sight of his bare torso, which glows in the early-morning sun. He’s so gorgeous I can barely stand it. I slip the ring over his head and settle it against his collarbones, letting my hands linger against his skin a little longer than necessary.

A couple other teams are already up on their horses, the girls behind the guys. Janine’s having no trouble taking bites out of Steve’s pastry necklace, since she’s eighty feet tall, but Zora is much shorter than Martin, and she can’t even reach his neck unless he leans way back in the saddle. They barely seem to be staying on their horse as their handler leads them down the beach at a slow walk. “I think I should go in front and face you,” I say.

“Ooh, smart. Are you okay riding backward?”

“I trust you to keep me from falling,” I say.

We explain to our handler what we want to do, and he helps us up into the double saddle. I can’t put my feet in the stirrups in this position, but Will grips my legs tightly with his and holds onto the pommel behind me, and once I put my hands on his waist to steady myself, I feel pretty secure. When the horse starts walking, rocking us gently back and forth, I can feel Will’s muscles shifting under my hands as he works to balance us. His face is very close to mine, and he stares right into my eyes—if I leaned forward a few inches, I could close the gap between us. I have to work very hard not to look at his mouth.

“Ready when you are,” he says.

I lean forward and take my first bite of the dough necklace. It’s soft and sweet, and it melts in my mouth like a croissant. When I lick a drop of honey off Will’s neck, he draws in his breath sharply, and I feel intoxicatingly powerful. I can tell how hard his heart is beating, and mine speeds up in response.

“No, God, Samir! See how Claire’s doing it?” I hear my sister’s voice say behind us. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?” She sounds like she’s on the verge of tossing him off their horse and into the ocean, and for a second I feel bad for her. But that doesn’t dampen my excitement that she’s just held me up as an example on camera for the first time. The pastry in my mouth suddenly tastes even more delicious.

I make the challenge last as long as I reasonably can, but when I see Miranda and Samir getting off their horse, I hurry up and take my last few bites. When I finish and smile up at Will, he’s looking at me with wonder in his eyes. “That was hot, Dominique,” he whispers. But until he says it, my brave, sexy alter ego hadn’t even crossed my mind. I haven’t needed her today—it’s always been plain old Claire up on this horse. And Will Divine still thinks I’m hot.

Our handler helps us down and hands us our next envelope, and I rip it open as Will pulls his shirt and hat back on.

Make your way by train to Corinth. At the station, choose one of the marked Around the World cars and drive yourself to Acrocorinth, where you will find the ruins of the Temple of Aphrodite. Here, you must snip a small lock of your hair as a sacrifice to the goddess of love and fertility, then make a private romantic wish.

There’s a new buzz of intimacy between Will and me now, and I wonder if our crew guys can feel the electricity zinging through the air as we crush into a cab and head toward the train station. I know I’m probably getting a little ahead of myself, but as we board the train to Corinth, I can’t help daydreaming about the future. Will has one more year at NYU, but Braeburn’s only four hours from the city, and we could easily visit each other on weekends. And during the week, we could Skype and email and text. If we wanted to, we could make it work. Will sits with his thigh pressed against mine, and every time he smiles at me, heat rushes through my body. If it weren’t for the cameras, I’m pretty sure we’d be all over each other right now, regardless of all the Greek strangers around us.

The ride to Corinth is so beautiful the scenery doesn’t even look real. There’s a steep drop-off alongside the tracks that leads right down to the ocean, which is the same bright blue as Will’s eyes, and if I squint I can see a smattering of islands shimmering in the distance. At the station, we buy a road map and choose one of the cars waiting for us in the parking lot. Will slips behind the wheel, and I climb in back to navigate, wishing I could sit beside him and hold his hand. Not all the street signs have English transliterations, so we get lost a few times, but we eventually find the turn-off to Acrocorinth and creep up the steep hill toward the massive citadel perched on top.

It’s a good thing we choose to leave our packs in the trunk, because even the climb from the parking area to the first gate is shockingly steep. We pass through two more huge gates, and then we’re inside, zigzagging up through the crumbling ruins. The sandy stone walls and turrets look like they’re growing straight out of the rocky hillside, and flowers have taken root between the stones, adding bright, startling flashes of red and yellow and purple. Will and I are too out of breath to talk as we climb, but after everything that’s happened last night and this morning, I still feel like we’re connected even when we’re silent. The sun is warm and the breeze is perfect, and for a while, it’s easy to forget about the cameras and imagine that we’re out hiking together just for fun. When Martin and Zora pass us on the way back to their car and give us a friendly wave, I wonder if they can sense how things have changed between us.

The view from the summit is totally worth the effort—miles and miles of ocean and city and distant mountains are spread out before us like a patchwork quilt. A single pillar of the ancient temple stands at the peak of the hill, and a producer in a pink shirt has set up a makeshift studio at its base. Miranda is sitting across from her, making her wish, and Samir is waiting off to the side, meticulously picking tiny pieces of lint off his shirt. “You want to go first or should I?” I ask Will when the two of them start heading back down, ignoring both us and each other.

“You can go,” he says, so I climb the slope and snip a small piece of my hair into the wooden bowl at the base of the pillar. Then I sit down in the folding chair across from the producer, a woman with a million tiny dreads and lipstick so dark it’s almost black.

“Hi, Claire,” she says. “What I need from you is a wish that has to do with love or romance. It can be anything you want, but the more specific you are, the more exciting it’ll be for our viewers. For example, if there’s another racer you’re interested in, now would be a great time to mention it. Do you need a minute to think about it?”

“No,” I tell her. “I know what I want to say.”

“Great. The camera’s rolling, so go ahead whenever you’re ready.”

I look straight into the lens. “I wish that Will Divine and I can be a real couple once this race is over,” I say, loud and clear. “He’s the most amazing guy I’ve ever met, and he seems to like me, too. I want him to be my boyfriend.” It’s the first time I’ve voiced that thought out loud, and it feels terrifying and wonderful in equal measures.

The producer beams at me. “That’s perfect, Claire. You’re all set. Go ahead and send Will up.”

Will’s gone for a lot longer than I was. He and the producer seem to be having a heated discussion, but even when I edge closer, I can’t hear what they’re saying. Finally, the producer hands him a pink envelope, and he climbs back down. “What took you so long?” I ask.

“Oh, nothing. She just wasn’t happy with how I phrased my wish at first.”

He tears open our instructions, but I’m not quite ready to be done with this topic yet, even though I can see Tawny and Troy making their way up the hill. “What did you wish for?” I push, hoping it was about me.

He gives me a mysterious smile. “If I told you, it wouldn’t come true.”

“I don’t think that rule applies when you’ve already said it out loud.”

“If you’re so sure, why don’t you tell me what you wished for?”

“Fine,” I say. “I wished for the power to turn anything I wanted into cheese.”

He laughs. “That was your wish about love and romance?”

“Maybe. Cheese is very romantic.”

“I’ll tell you my wish when you tell me your real one.”

I’m right on the brink of doing it, but I’m suddenly not sure if I should—I don’t want to say too much too fast and risk scaring him away. Our new dynamic feels fragile as an eggshell, and I’m worried I might break it if I squeeze too hard. So I just shrug and say, “I’ll tell you later.”

“Same goes for me, then.” Will pulls out our next instructions, and I’m a little disappointed that he didn’t try harder to weasel my wish out of me.

Drive yourselves to the Ancient Stadium in Corinth, where you will run a relay race using golden apples, one of the symbols of Aphrodite. You must travel up and down the field four times, passing off your golden apple each time. The first team member will begin with the apple under his or her chin. After the first lap, the apple must be passed to the second team member’s chin. For the third lap, the first team member must hold the apple between his or her knees, and for the final lap, the apple must be passed to the second team member’s knees. You may not touch the apple with your hands at any time. If you drop your apple, you will incur a three-minute penalty, during which you must sit down and remain silent.

“Now they really are just trying to make us look stupid,” Will says as we start our descent.

“I don’t know, I think it sounds kind of fun,” I say. Then again, I’m so giggly and buoyant right now that picking dead flies out of a kiddie pool with tweezers would probably sound fun.

I expect the stadium to be a structure with walls, like a football stadium, but it turns out to be a wide, flat field surrounded by scrubby trees. In the middle of the grass, Miranda and Zora are doing hilarious ducklike waddles with golden apples clenched between their knees as a crowd of locals cheers them on. At the stadium gate, a man who’s about as wide as he is tall hands us our “golden apple,” which is made of plastic and is lighter and more slippery than a real apple. He also hands me another pink envelope, but instead of the regular logo that’s usually printed on the front, this heart-map is circled in red and slashed through with a line. Inside are two hot pink cards and an explanation.

Attention, racers! This challenge is a HEARTBREAKER! If you spot a team waiting out a penalty during the relay, you may swap your own partner for either penalized racer, who will become your new partner for the rest of this leg of the race. You must start the relay over with your new partner. Each person may initiate only one swap. Are you cruel enough to break your partner’s heart?

Well, this clearly doesn’t apply to me. Why would I want to switch partners when I have Will? “You’re not going to trade me in for Philadelphia, are you?” I ask jokingly as I hand him his card, and he laughs and rolls his eyes. I’m pleased to discover that thinking about her doesn’t make me feel the slightest bit insecure anymore. I tuck my Heartbreaker card into my back pocket and forget about it.

The field is divided into lanes, with little Venus-on-a-clamshell statues marking the boundary lines. Each lane also has a referee with a whistle and a red flag. We pick a lane, and Will asks, “You want to go first?”

“Sure.” I tuck the apple under my chin, and I’m off.

My neck starts to sweat against the plastic almost immediately, and the apple threatens to slip, so I slow from a run to a smoother speed-walk. Will trots along next to me, cheering me on. I’m only about a quarter of the way across the field when I hear the shriek of a whistle. “Who has a penalty?” I ask, careful not to move my chin too much.

“Your sister,” Will says. “Keep going. You’ve got this.”

I manage to make it to the end of the lane and circle the statue without dropping my apple. Will moves in to make the transfer, and we both tip our heads to the right, as if we’re about to kiss. I pray I haven’t made the apple too sweaty to hold. “I don’t have a very good grip,” he says when he manages to grab it. “Could you nudge it in there more tightly somehow?” I end up using my nose like a seal with a ball, to help him reposition the apple, and the whole thing is so ridiculous that we both end up giggling hysterically.

We set off in the other direction. Miranda and Samir are still sitting down in their lane, waiting for their penalty to be up, and I notice that my sister is staring at me very intently. I shoot her a sympathetic smile, but she doesn’t smile back. When her referee blows his whistle and lowers his red flag, she and Samir leap to their feet, and Miranda tucks her apple back between her knees. But before she’s taken three steps, it shoots forward like it’s been launched from a slingshot and rolls across the grass.

“God, Miranda, what’s wrong with you? When did you get so freaking clumsy?” Samir snaps as they sit back down. I hate that he’s yelling at her, but I have to admit I’m surprised, too. My sister’s usually really coordinated.

Will has no trouble keeping the apple in place under his chin. He reaches the end of the lane just as Tawny and Troy arrive, and he slowly crouches until his face is level with my thighs. I brace my hands on his shoulders, squat, and stick out my knees, and after a minute of awkward maneuvering, I manage to grab the apple between my legs. It stays there for a total of eight steps, and then it bounces off my shin and rolls into the next lane. Martin drops his apple at almost the same moment, and both our referees blow their whistles and raise their red flags.

“Sorry, I thought I had it,” I say.

“Don’t worry,” Will says. “It’s no big deal. You’re doing great.”

Miranda’s penalty ends moments after I sit down, and she immediately raises her pink Heartbreaker card high in the air. “I want to switch partners!” she yells.

Her referee jogs over, followed by a producer. “Who do you choose as your new partner?” he asks.

I expect her to pick Martin—it would be the best strategic move, since it would knock him and Zora out of first place. But instead she says, “I choose Claire.”

If this had happened while we were in Java, I would have been thrilled and flattered that my sister wanted to be with me. If it had happened yesterday, when I was with Troy, I would have been relieved. But everything is different now, and for the first time, the thought of racing with my sister actually makes me unhappy. This swap benefits her, but it doesn’t help me at all. Miranda knows how much I like being with Will. Is she trying to separate us on purpose, as payback for slowing her down yesterday?

“That’s not even allowed,” Samir says. “The teams have to be boy-girl, right?”

Miranda shoves her card in the producer’s face and points at the small print. “It says right here that I can swap my partner for either penalized racer. I want Claire. I can have Claire, right?”

The producer takes a step back, obviously put off by her aggressive tone. “Yes, same-sex partners are allowed for this challenge. Claire, Miranda is your partner for the rest of this leg of the race. Samir, your new partner is Will. Please join him in the far lane.”

Samir looks anguished. “I have to race with a guy? Are you kidding me?”

“I can’t believe she’s separating us,” I say to Will. “This sucks.”

“She’s probably just intimidated by the hazardous level of awesome radiating from our lane.” He reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Thanks for an amazing morning, Dominique.”

I’m not sure if he’s referring to the kiss or the pastry licking or the fact that we’re near the front of the pack. But in any case, he looks genuinely sorry to be separating from me, which makes me feel warm all the way through. I hang on to his fingers for as long as I can. “We’ll be back together soon,” I say. “There’s probably just one more challenge after this one. I’ll try to beat you to the finish line so I can pick you for the next leg.”

He gives me a sly smile. “Oh, please. As if you could possibly beat me. This is my million dollars, after all.”

“Claire, let’s go!” Miranda calls. She sounds incredibly pissed, so I smile at Will one last time and run off to join her. I haven’t even made it to her lane before Tawny drops her apple and Will swoops in to steal her, leaving Samir to partner with Troy.

“Look how pissed Samir is,” I whisper to my sister gleefully.

“Let’s get this stupid relay over with,” she snaps, like I haven’t said anything. “Roll your pants up above your knees. The apples are less slippery if they’re against bare skin.” She starts doing the same with her own.

If Miranda and I hadn’t been separated at the starting line, would she have been this bossy and demanding for the whole race? And why is she so pissed now, when she’s successfully gotten rid of Samir? For a minute, I consider using my Heartbreaker card to steal Will back as soon as I have the opportunity—I shouldn’t have to put up with my sister’s attitude when I’m the one who deserves to be upset. But Samir could pull ahead if we waste any more time, and neither of us wants that. I can suck it up for one more challenge.

I tuck the apple under my chin and set off across the field as fast as I can. “Do not drop that, or Samir will steal me back,” Miranda calls after me, like I’m planning to sabotage her or something.

As we do our first transfer at the other end of the field, I realize this isn’t the first time my sister and I have played this game. Our hometown used to have a lot of festivals with relay races when we were kids, and Miranda was always my partner, since I was too shy to interact with the other kids. Even though I’d forgotten all about those games until this moment, my muscles remember exactly how to work in sync with my sister’s. It only takes one smooth motion for her to grab the apple from me with her chin. Of course, those ridiculous, fumbling, giggling transfers with Will would have been well worth finishing the race a few minutes later.

Samir keeps a close eye on us the whole time, ready to steal Miranda back the moment we screw up, but we get through the first three laps without dropping our apple. The last swap is pretty difficult, but when I lie on my back and Miranda stands over me, balancing herself with my hands, we manage the knee-to-knee transfer. She waddles quickly down the field, and when she crosses the finish line, I expect her to cheer or at least crack a smile—she’s safe from Samir for now. But she just gives me a businesslike high five and snatches the next envelope from our referee.

Make your way to the Pegasus fountain in Korinthos Square, where each team will find a wheelbarrow full of pomegranates. At Greek weddings, it is traditional to smash pomegranates on the ground—the scattering of seeds symbolizes fertility and abundance. You must smash your pomegranates until you find the one that has a small Around the World in Eighty Dates flag in the center, which you may exchange for your next instructions.

Miranda grabs her pack and dashes toward the car, and I have to sprint to keep up with her. Before she slides behind the wheel, she pulls a map out of her bag and shoves it at me harder than necessary. “Navigate,” she says.

“I have my own map. Why do you always assume I’m not prepared?”

“Just hurry and tell me which way to go, okay?”

We talk of nothing but left and right turns until we arrive in Korinthos Square—the air in the car is so thick with our unaired grievances that it’s difficult to breathe, let alone speak. The plaza around the Pegasus fountain is sunny and bright and full of laughing locals with drinks and ice cream, and it seems impossible that such carefree people could exist in the same dimension as my sister and I right now. Six wheelbarrows full of pomegranates are spaced at regular intervals around the fountain, and a small crowd has gathered around the one where Martin and Zora are enthusiastically smashing fruit. The juice seeps into the tan paving stones, making dramatic, bloody stains.

We pick the first wheelbarrow we come to, and Miranda snatches a pomegranate and throws it with both hands. It’s overripe, and it explodes against the ground, sending a shower of red juice onto my shoes. I smash the next one, and it’s surprisingly cathartic to watch seeds and pulp fly in all directions. After I throw a few more, unleashing my physical anger starts to loosen my tongue, and I turn to my sister. “So, is there anything you want to say to me right now?”

She doesn’t even look at me. “Um, not really. What are you talking about?”

“How about ‘I’m sorry’? That would be a good start.”

Miranda smashes another pomegranate, then stomps on it violently when it doesn’t break all the way open. “Seriously? You think I owe you an apology?”

“Yeah, I do, actually. You knew how much I wanted to be Will’s partner, and you saw how well we were doing together, but you just swooped in anyway and split us up like you were totally entitled.”

“I was entitled,” she says. “Swapping partners was the whole point of that challenge.”

“You could just as easily have chosen Martin or Zora, and that would’ve been the more strategic move if you wanted to get ahead of Samir, because—”

Miranda throws a pomegranate so hard half of it flies up and hits me in the leg. “I didn’t want Martin or Zora, Claire! I don’t care about strategy and getting ahead right now! I’m having the crappiest day ever, and I just wanted to get away from Samir and find a partner who might actually understand what I’m going through and sympathize with me a little! But I guess that’s too much to ask for from you, isn’t it? I kept dropping that stupid apple on purpose and waiting for you to step up and separate us, and you just ignored me and carried on with your happy little lovefest!”

Oh God, of course she was dropping the apple on purpose. I probably should have picked up on that. But after the fuss Miranda made about the dance challenge, her anger seems completely unfair. “That is such a double standard! Why would you expect me to help you when you just made this huge deal yesterday about how pissed you were that you helped me?”

“Because even if it hurt me, I did it anyway!”

“But I didn’t ask you to, Miranda! That was your choice! You can’t decide to do me a favor and then hold it against me!”

My sister grabs a whole bunch of pomegranates and throws three in a row, splat splat splat. One of them is so ripe that it squishes in her hand, and the bright red juice drips down her forearm like she’s just ripped out someone’s heart. “You’re the one who said we were allies no matter what, and I was trying to be a good team member and actually look out for you. But I guess that doesn’t work both ways if it means spending two seconds away from your precious Will Divine.”

I shush her—Will and Tawny have arrived and are throwing pomegranates on the other side of the fountain. “He has nothing to do with this. Leave him out of it,” I hiss.

“How can I? This whole race is about him to you. I stupidly thought you were here because you actually cared about my feelings. But now you’re too busy making goo-goo eyes at Will to even ask me whether I’m all right!”

Will and Tawny let out a cheer—somehow they’ve found their pomegranate flag already. When Miranda sees me looking at him, she hurls a pomegranate directly at my foot. “You’ve known him all of one week, Claire! Is that really where your loyalty lies?”

“Are you seriously talking to me about loyalty?” I yell. “You sell me out every time we get in front of a producer! ‘Doing romantic challenges is going to be a huge stretch for Claire. There’s no way she can possibly deal with intimate situations.’ ” Smash. “ ‘I’ve spent my entire life jumping in to save my incompetent baby sister when things get too overwhelming for her.’ ” Smash. “You told that stupid fitting room story on camera! What were you thinking? Can’t you see how they’re going to use that to portray me as a naïve idiot?”

“It’s not like I made any of that stuff up, Claire!”

“But none of it matters! It’s not holding me back! We’ve been on this race for six days now, and there were literally five minutes that freaked me out! I’m not the scared little kid I was when you were seventeen, okay? And if you’d made any effort at all to know me since you went away to school, you’d realize that!” There are hot, angry tears spilling down my cheeks now, and I don’t even bother to wipe them away. “God, what is it going to take for you to stop patronizing me long enough to actually see me?”

“I’m not trying to patronize you, I’m trying to protect you!”

“But that’s the thing, Miranda—I don’t need your protection anymore! I’m so sick of you babying me all the time and acting like I can’t take care of myself! Are you really that surprised that I’d rather spend time with Will, who actually respects me and treats me like an adult? You’re the one I need protection from!”

Miranda throws another pomegranate, which explodes all over my shins—there’s so much red juice on me that I look like I’ve spent the day in a slaughterhouse. “If you want to be treated like an adult, then try thinking about someone besides yourself for once, Claire! I’ve just spent an entire day with my cheating ex-boyfriend, who I can barely look at without feeling like I’m going to throw up, and you’ve made zero effort to reach out to me! Didn’t it occur to you that I might be upset? My entire life just fell apart, and I’m in the middle of nowhere, and I can’t even talk to any of my friends. You’re my only ally out here, and you’ve basically abandoned me for a crush. I would never do that to you, no matter what distractions some stupid TV network threw at me. I don’t see how it matters if you can swim in your underwear or dance in front of a bunch of people if underneath it all, you’re just a selfish child.”

I feel like I’ve been kicked in the soft place under my ribs, and for a moment, I’m speechless. “Miranda, that’s not—” I start.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she says. “If you want me to believe you’re so different from how you used to be, show me you’ve grown up in a way that actually matters.”

She hurls another pomegranate, and when it breaks open, a bright pink flag peeks out of the bloody ruins. “Let’s go,” she says, snatching it up. “We’re done here.”