Sam's Night (III)

The elevator chimed, its mechanical grace note ringing out over the soft hush of evening. Sam emerged, carrying three paper bags in one hand, a bottle of sauvignon blanc in the other. Her hair was the color of a thundercloud streaked with cobalt, and she was dressed in a black tank top, sneakers, and denim jeans—practical, unflappable, perfectly herself.

The Suite was empty except for Andi, who stood on the balcony, elbows propped on the glass railing, eyes fixed on the horizon where the lights of the resort glittered like a spill of broken jewelry. She wore black leggings and a dark green UIC hoodie, sleeves shoved up to her elbows, and the cold wind off the volcano sculpted her long hair into a banner. There was something braced about the way she stood, as if every joint in her body had locked into position and would remain there until further notice.

Sam clomped through the living room, set the bags and bottle on the bar, and said, “Yo. You waiting for a rescue or is this a rooftop jumper thing?”

Andi didn’t look over. “If it was, you’d bring pizza?”

“Obviously,” Sam called back, unwinding the bottle from its paper sleeve and snagging a corkscrew off the island. “I learned from the best. You’d never do a leap on an empty stomach.” She popped the cork with the efficiency of a career bartender and poured a glass, letting it breathe exactly as long as it took her to cross the room.

Andi took the offered glass and sipped without turning. “Didn’t expect you so soon.”

Sam propped herself next to her, not bothering to take in the view. “The traffic’s shit on Floor Twelve, but I cut through the admin wing. Also, Chloe said you’d probably be in girl mode, so I figured you’d need a fellow estrogen haver to keep you company.”

Andi smiled despite herself. “She didn’t say ‘estrogen haver.’”

“She absolutely did,” Sam said. “Also she wants to borrow that black swimsuit you wore a couple of days back.”

Andi leaned her head against the cool glass, letting her hair curtain over her face. “She can have it. It’s not like I’m making fashion statements.”

“‘Girl mode’ and ‘fashion statement’ are not mutually exclusive,” Sam said, elbowing her gently. “You look good. The green works for you.”

They drank in silence for a minute, letting the dusk stretch out. The wine was sharp and chilled, and the air had that slightly burnt smell of an island that ran on geothermal power and endless ambition.

Sam gestured at the horizon with her chin. “So. You come out here to brood or to make sure the volcano hasn’t eaten us all yet?”

Andi set her glass on the rail. “I guess it’s both. Volcanic apocalypse is preferable to what’s going on in my head.”

“Then it must be pretty bad,” Sam said, her tone gentle but not patronizing. “Want to tell me about it or should I just keep pouring?”

Andi glanced at her. The wind caught her hair, whipping it into her mouth, and she spent a minute tucking it behind her ears. She looked… not tired, exactly, but like someone who’d lost the thread on why things mattered. Sam saw it, read it, and didn’t try to fill the silence.

Andi said, “I’m supposed to be burning off my transformation time. You know, the rules.” She waggled her fingers in air quotes.

Sam sipped her wine. “You know you don’t have to explain it to me. I think you’re hotter this way, though.”

Andi huffed, then grinned. “Are you hitting on me or being supportive?”

Sam shrugged. “Little column A, little column B. I’m not above objectifying my best friend. Especially when she’s spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Andi lied. She looked at her hands, then the skyline, then the wine. “I just… I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

Sam set her glass down and leaned against her, shoulder to shoulder. "Okay. Let's try the direct approach. What's eating you? Because I can tell you're not sleeping, and you barely made a snark when Norah tried to convince everyone to go skinny-dipping in the lagoon."

Andi closed her eyes, her jaw flexing once. Then she let it go, the breath hissing out of her. "Two things. First, there's this Coauthor Gift."

"The one where you can change three words in someone's description?"

"Yeah." Andi picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. "I have to use it once by the end of the round, and I've been putting it off. Who do I even ask to volunteer for that? 'Hey, want me to rewrite parts of your identity?'"

Sam swirled her wine thoughtfully. "Depends what you change. Hair color? No big deal. Personality traits? That's messing with someone's soul."

"Exactly. And what if I make it worse? What if I change something fundamental and they hate it?"

"Let me do it," Sam said, so quickly Andi blinked.

"You serious?"

"Dead serious. Make my hair really blue—not this half-assed thundercloud thing. Add a couple inches of height so I can reach the top cabinets. And then..." She grinned. "Something fun. Surprise me."

Andi studied her friend's face. "You trust me that much?"

"More than anyone." Sam nudged her. "But that's not all that's bothering you, is it?"

Andi's expression darkened. "No. It's Riley."

Sam's face hardened. "Riley again? Jesus. Every time she corners you alone, you come back looking like this." She gestured at Andi with her wine glass. "What'd she say this time?"

"Same song, different verse." Andi's voice went flat, each word pressed thin. "That I'm the reason Laura's dead. That I don't deserve any of this." She swallowed. "That she's going to make sure I never forget it."

Sam set her glass down with a sharp click. "She can try. But she's not the only one with staying power in this place."

Andi pressed her palms into the railing, feeling the cold bite of the metal. “I can’t get her out of my head. Every time I close my eyes, I see it again. The footbridge, the river, all of it.” She shook her head, angry at the memory. “I thought I’d moved on. Or at least buried it deep enough that I could pretend.”

Sam made a considering sound, then said, “She’s full of shit.”

Andi blinked. “What?”

Sam turned to face her, eyes sharp. "You heard me. She's full of shit. Whatever happened back then, it wasn't your fault. So let her go. If she gets eliminated, she gets eliminated."

Andi almost laughed. "You don't understand. There are consequences to that, here. Real ones."

"Arabella says a lot of things," Sam said, waving her hand. "She also said the volcano was dormant, and we both know that's a lie and this thing is going to explode any moment." She leaned closer, voice dropping. "Look, I see you carrying this weight. But you're not responsible for what happened to Laura. That's on the universe, not you."

Andi didn’t answer, so Sam reached over and refilled both their glasses, then popped open a takeout container and handed it to her. “Eat. I got pad thai because I know you stress-carb when you’re upset.”

Andi took the box, holding it with both hands like a life preserver. She stared at the noodles, then at Sam, and for a second the mask dropped and the real fear showed through.

“I saw her last night,” Andi said, so quietly Sam had to lean in to hear. “In the dream. She was older. She looked… she looked like a grown woman, but I could recognize those blue eyes.” She shuddered, the memory running ice down her spine. “She was still in the water, taken away by the current. But I heard her voice. She called my name, and then she was a girl again, swept away, and her eyes were full of hurt.”

Sam chewed her noodles, nodding like she was taking notes. “Do you think it was her, or just your brain being an asshole?”

Andi shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does,” Sam said. “If it’s her, then maybe she’s trying to reach you. If it’s your brain, then maybe you should tell it to get bent.”

Andi managed a smile, but it didn’t stick.

They ate for a while, the quiet broken only by the far-off sound of wind through the palm trees and the soft clink of glass against glass. When the food was gone, Sam licked her chopsticks and set them on the rail.

“So,” she said, “apart from the maybe-ghost of your dead girlfriend, what else is in the stew?”

Andi let her head drop back, looking up at the stars just beginning to show behind the volcanic haze. "The Hollow Garden. I went down there last week. Arabella gave me the tour."

Sam frowned. "The what garden?"

"The Hollow Garden," Andi said, correcting herself. "It's… like a sanatorium, but for people who get broken by the show. The ones who can't be fixed with a happy ending or a magical reset."

Sam gave her a long, steady look. "You went down there?"

"Arabella took me," Andi replied, wrapping her arms across her chest as if bracing against the wind. "She wanted me to see what happens to the ones who don't make it. The ones who get transformed so far there's no way back."

"Jesus," Sam said. "Was it as bad as it sounds?"

Andi shivered. "Worse. It's beautiful, but in that way where you know it shouldn't exist. There are women there who can barely talk, barely remember who they used to be. One girl looked like a cross between a bat and a woman, and kept smiling through the tears. Another looked like a bunch of dandelion fluff, but grazed the grass like she was a sheep."

"That's bleak," Sam said. She leaned in, her shoulder nudging Andi's. "Why did Arabella want you to see it?"

"She wanted to offer me a choice," Andi said. "She's letting me add one woman from the Hollow Garden to the harem. My pick, based on who I think would survive up here. Or maybe—" she made a face, bitter at the taste of it—"who deserves a second shot."

Sam whistled low. "Heavy is the head, etcetera."

Andi managed a smile. "That's what you always say."

"Because it's true. So, who were the options?"

Andi ticked them off on her fingers. "Dinah Hornblower. Used to be a doctor, got turned into a breeding factory, then into a Contestant's emotional punching bag. She's some sort of catgirl or lynx-girl and runs the place now, keeps the peace. Second is Eden Summers. Got eliminated, and came back a four-breasted, mute ex-scientist who has no arms can't take off her shoes. She's… incredible. But she's made a home down there. Doesn't want to come back up. And if she did, what could she even do in a physical challenge?"

"And the third?" Sam prompted.

"Emily," Andi said, voice gentler now. "She was in a season that never ended. The contestants were shuffled and left in limbo. She's been there two years, just waiting for someone to notice her."

Sam's face softened with recognition. "So that's her story. I wondered, when I saw her this morning in the kitchen. All that hair, and those eyes watching me from behind it." She grinned. "You always want to save the one who needs help. Also, you have a soft spot for girls with tragic backstories and a high weirdness quotient. Am I wrong?"

Andi shook her head, the laugh escaping before she could stop it. "No. You're not."

Sam's grin faded to something warmer. "Good. Because if you picked the catgirl, I'd have to stage an intervention. No offense to Dinah, but she sounds like she could handle herself just fine."

Andi exhaled, and for the first time since the conversation began, her posture relaxed. She sipped her wine, then stared at the horizon. "Actually, Dinah would like to meet you. And… I was afraid you'd think I was making a mistake."

Sam snorted. "When have I ever cared about that? Besides, it's not a mistake unless you give up."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, broken only by the wind and the distant sound of the resort’s pool party winding down. Sam reached for the pad thai, scooped out a tangle of noodles, and plopped it onto a paper plate. She set one in front of Andi, then dug into her own.

"You know what I think?" Sam said, mouth half-full. "I think you're allowed to be haunted. You lost someone, and now she's in your dreams every night, telling you to do better. That's just grief doing its job."

Andi nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Sam continued, "But you gotta let other people help, too. You can't out-logic guilt."

Andi stared at her plate, then said, "Why do you always know the right thing to say?"

"Because I spent four years listening to your bullshit in college," Sam said, shooting her a look. "And because you did the same for me, all those times I called from the Blue Bean at three in the morning, pretending not to be in tears."

Andi grinned, remembering the late-night phone calls and the way Sam always claimed she was "just closing up" when anyone with a working clock could tell it was hours past. "We were a pair, weren't we?"

"Still are," Sam said. She raised her glass. "To co-dependency."

Andi clinked hers against it. "To surviving, even when we don't deserve it."

They drained their glasses, then stood in silence, shoulder to shoulder, watching the sky burn itself down to darkness.

By the time the second bottle was opened and the takeout reduced to a sprawl of half-empty cartons, the Suite had taken on the easy, lived-in disorder of a shared dorm room. Sam sprawled on the couch, her feet up on the glass table, while Andi lay with her head in Sam's lap, hoodie pulled up over her ears. They'd turned the music down to a hush, just loud enough to keep the silence company.

"So," Sam said, picking at a stray spring roll, "we've been here, what—four weeks now?"

Andi squinted, calculating. "Twenty-eight days, give or take."

"That's basically a month," Sam said. "Back home, the Blue Bean is probably running out of oat milk and Michael is probably losing his mind." She popped the spring roll into her mouth and chewed, lost in thought.

"You're worried about your brother?" Andi asked, eyes half-shut.

Sam shrugged. "He can handle himself. But I'm picturing the headlines. 'Local Barista Vanishes; Family Suspects Caffeine Overdose.'"

Andi snorted, then grew pensive. "I keep thinking about the people we left behind. My parents. Erin's friends. Even Liesa's dad, who I’ve never met." She shifted, curling in on herself. "You think they know we're gone?"

Sam considered. "Maybe. Or maybe it's like when your phone dies and nobody realizes until they try to text. The world's got a short attention span."

They let that sit. The air was warm, thick with the scent of soy sauce and patchouli from a candle someone (probably Mildred) had left burning.

Andi said, "You ever miss it? The before?"

Sam stared at the ceiling. "Not really. I mean, the sex is weirder here, and there’s a lot more nudity, but at least we’re not lying to ourselves anymore. Back in Chicago, I spent half my day pretending to be someone I wasn’t." She grinned. "Here, if you want to wear sweatpants and never shower, that's a valid life choice."

Andi nodded, then asked, "Do you ever regret coming?"

Sam shook her head. "No. But sometimes I wish it was less… complicated."

Andi grinned. "You and me both."

They fell silent, the only sound the low, plaintive whine of a violin from the playlist.

After a while, Sam said, "I’ve been thinking about Liesa."

Andi looked up, eyebrows raised.

Sam flushed, but didn't flinch. "I think I’m falling for her. Hard, dude. Which is insane, because it’s only been a month, and she’s technically part of your—" she waved, "—thing."

Andi propped herself on one elbow, face soft. "It’s not insane. She’s easy to love. And it’s not like I have exclusive rights. Besides, it’s not like I can sit in moral judgment of someone falling in love over the span of a month."

Sam laughed, grateful for the absolution.

"Besides," Andi said. "She adores you. You’re the only person who can make her laugh when she’s homesick."

Sam beamed, then let her hand rest lightly on Andi’s shoulder.

"You know," Sam said, voice low, "I never thought I’d be here. Not on an island with you, but just… this comfortable. With who I am."

Andi smiled. "I'm glad. You deserve it."

Sam shrugged, a touch sheepish. "I mean, it helps that you're not my type."

Andi laughed, a real one. "You don’t have to rub it in."

Sam grinned. "Just saying, you make a pretty girl. But you’re not gonna tempt me into straightness."

"Good," Andi said. "I like you better as my wingwoman."

They sat in silence for a moment, until Andi said, "Do you think we’ll ever get back?"

Sam considered. "Honestly? I hope not. Not until we’re ready. There’s stuff I need to finish here."

Andi closed her eyes, letting the moment settle. "Me too."

Sam squeezed her shoulder, then leaned back and let her hand stay there.

"Hey," Sam said after a while, "I did the math. Your birthday is in three weeks or so."

Andi blinked, surprised. "You remembered?"

"Of course," Sam said, mock-offended. "I never forget a friend’s birthday. Plus, I already have a plan."

Andi eyed her suspiciously. "Should I be worried?"

Sam smiled, enigmatic. "Nope. But you should be ready to party. I’m going to drag you out to the patio and **** you to dance. Even if I have to use a cattle prod."

Andi grinned, the thought of it banishing the last of the melancholy.

"Thank you," she said, voice quiet.

Sam looked down at her, the affection plain. "Anytime."

They watched the resort lights blink on and off, the volcano a sleeping shadow beyond the window.

Eventually, Sam's eyelids began to droop, her words slurring at the edges. She nudged Andi, who was still bright-eyed but recognized her friend's exhaustion. "Bed," Sam mumbled, and Andi nodded, helping her stumble into the bedroom. Sam kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the king-sized bed, while Andi perched on the edge, alert despite the hour, her fingers tapping a restless rhythm against her knee. The scent of wine and pad thai clung to them both.

While Sam's breathing slowed, Andi watched the shadows play across the ceiling, listening to the muffled pulse of the Suite. She could have stayed up for hours more. Sam eventually propped herself up on an elbow, fighting to keep her eyes open, and asked, "Do you ever think about what happens next?"

Andi turned to her, fully present, mind still racing. "Define next."

Sam smiled, eyes soft. "I mean, after this. The challenges, the harem, all of it."

Andi rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "Sometimes I think I’ll just wake up one day and it’ll be over. Like none of this mattered. Like it was all a fever dream."

Sam reached out, brushing Andi's hair off her forehead. "It's real. You're real. Even Mildred’s burned coffee is real."

Andi closed her eyes, letting the words soak in. "It would be easier if I could pretend."

"Maybe," Sam said, voice low. "But then you'd miss all the good parts. Except the coffee."

Andi cracked a smile. "Like now?"

Sam nodded, then burrowed under the covers, tugging Andi with her. They settled in, shoulders touching, the room gone hush and safe.

They lay there for a long time, trading stories in the dark. Andi confessed her fears about being the Master, about failing everyone. Sam countered with her own doubts, her envy of people who seemed to have it together. They talked about Dawn's energy, Chloe's honesty, the way Liesa made even sadness look beautiful. They wondered at Erin’s choice of vulnerability, and asked if Norah would ever stop treating life like a game. They speculated about Claire’s notebook—what secrets it held, and if she’d ever let anyone read it.

Andi found herself relaxing, the confessionals unspooling the knots in her chest.

"You know," Sam said, eyes half-shut, "if you ever want to quit, I’ll help you pack. But if you stay… I’ll help you win."

Andi grinned. "Thanks, Coach."

Sam grinned back. "Anytime."

They drifted, slow and sleepy, until the world slipped sideways and the only thing left was the comfort of the mattress, the blanket, the shared warmth.

Katherine watched from her frame, green eyes luminous in the dark. She saw the two of them tangled together, their faces soft and unguarded. For the first time in weeks, her painted lips curved—not quite a smile, but something that held its shape even after sleep claimed them both.