Prologue
“We are shit friends,” Rosa said as they stared at their old office in the courtyard of Amsterdam Square.
“Speak for yourself,” Angel shot back. “I call her every day.”
“And she talks to you?” Rosa asked.
“She almost never answers the phone. She texts me back sometimes,” Angel explained.
The building that had once been their home away from home sat abandoned. All the signage and décor was gone. Through the windows, it was just old furniture, a stack of hygiene kits, and dust.
The building was a manifestation of how they thought Rebel felt—and they weren’t wrong.
Rosa jiggled the door, but it didn’t budge. That too felt symbolic. They couldn’t get Rebel to open up no matter how hard they pushed.
“Did you check her apartment?” Hunter asked.
“She’s not there,” Angel said. “I went in to make sure she wasn’t hiding. She must be at the gym, again.”
The group started walking the two blocks toward the Cirque Gym.
“We’ve been busy, you guys,” Hunter reminded them. “We opened and operate a day shelter and community center in the desert, and summer is almost upon us. It’s understandable. Besides, Rebel keeps saying she’s fine.”
“I thought seeing her swear off sex was bad,” Angel muttered.
“It’s worse than that?” Hunter asked.
“So much worse,” Angel said. “We took her to brunch last Sunday, like always. She tried to weasel out of it but I cornered her. She sounds like a zombie. She’s internalizing everything. I haven’t seen her cry or yell once. She just keeps saying…” Angel swallowed hard. “That she’s trying to stay positive.”
“Bejebus,” Rosa said. “That’s a big red flag right there. If she’s speaking New Age, she can only be a few steps from joining a cult.”
“She won’t even mention Jon,” Angel added. “Speaking of Jon, have you heard from him?”
“No,” Rosa told her. “She made us promise not to reach out. And he hasn’t reached out to us.”
“It’s probably for the best,” Hunter said. “We don’t want to keep reopening that wound.”
“Yeah,” Angel agreed.
“How bad can it be if she’s still going to the gym?” Rosa asked. Her voice didn’t even sound convincing to herself. “Although, it’s only a hundred feet from her apartment, I guess.”
“That’s the thing,” Angel said. “She’s only going to the gym. She skipped First Friday entirely—she blamed shark week, but I know it wasn’t shark week because I didn’t get my period until a week later. She hasn’t even been to the new offices yet. She’s been handing out straggler kits on G Street and in the tunnels, but she asked the Taylors to bring the supplies from the new campus here. She isn’t hanging out with us, and it’s not like she has other friends. All she does is go to the gym. For hours. Every day.”
“A lot of people get in shape after a breakup,” Hunter offered. “She’s been coming here for years.”
“She was already in shape,” Rosa said. “I went to one of those aerial yoga classes with her last year and thought I was going to die. She was hanging upside down in these insane poses like it was nothing.”
“Exactly,” Angel said. “It’s been a month and she hasn’t looked at another guy. She hasn’t seen Jon. She still hasn’t come back to work. I know I’m repeating myself, but this is really freaking me out.”
“In fairness, it isn’t like there’s much for her to do at work,” Hunter said. “She kind of worked herself out of a job again.”
“And she does have a trust fund,” Rosa added. “Maybe she just needs a break, and she can afford to take one.”
“I’m her accountant,” Hunter said, “so I can tell you that strictly speaking, Rebel doesn’t have to work.”
“Her parents left her that much money?” Angel asked. “They were nurses and paid for all their humanitarian missions out of pocket. How did they end up rich?”
“They never paid rent,” Hunter explained. “The house was an inheritance, and they made a profit renting the land to a neighboring farm. Two incomes, one kid. They saved a lot, planning for a long retirement.”
“Oh, that’s so sad,” Angel said. “The only one of us with parents worth a shit, and they die when she’s practically a baby.” Rosa and Hunter nodded.
“Her mom claimed her dad’s life insurance policy but didn’t spend a dime. When she died, Rebel inherited everything. She sold the house and the farm. Iowa property is cheap, but she sold right after the bubble burst here in Vegas—by the end she had a substantial nest egg. Besides buying this building, she hasn’t touched much of it.”
“Bejebus,” Angel said. “I knew she inherited money but not that much. No wonder she never made us pay rent for the office.” Rosa and Hunter nodded. “Plus the building’s quadrupled in value. If she sells that…”
“That’s what I mean when I say she doesn’t have to work,” Hunter said. “It wouldn’t last her forever, but she could take years off. And she lives cheap—thrift store junkie, vintage clothes, secondhand everything. She doesn’t live like a trust fund kid.”
“That may be,” Angel said. “But this isn’t her taking time off to relax.”
“Maybe it is,” Hunter argued. “She caught Jon cheating and he didn’t even admit it. Coward.”
“Stop being so damn pragmatic,” Angel said. “She just isn’t okay. I’m freaking out. She won’t open up to me, so I need you to try, in person.”
“Okay,” Rosa said. “That’s why I’m here. I do have a membership, so I guess I should use it. I’ll check in on her.”
She spotted a familiar face and walked over.
“Cheryl!”
The blonde turned with a smile. She had been a friend of the Poverty Project crew for a long time.
“Rosalie! I don’t think I’ve gone a month without seeing you since we opened. How’s the new office?” Cheryl quickly approached and gave Rosa a hug.
“It’s amazing,” Rosa said. “We’re helping ten times the people we were before. Is Rebel here?”
Cheryl’s smile faded. “She is. She practically moved in. That’s why I called Angel. I wanted to be sure you guys knew how strange she has been acting.”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Rosa admitted. “What’s going on?”
“She’s been helping with beginner classes,” Cheryl said. “I’d pay her if we made any money.”
“She’s volunteering?” That sounded like Rebel.
“Sort of,” Cheryl said, leaning in. “She’s obviously going through something—probably about that rich douchebag she was dating. She was helping so much I let her join the pro-level aerial silks class she’s been eyeing for a year.”
“I thought those weren’t open to the public,” Rosa said.
“They’re not,” Cheryl admitted. “But she lights up in there and I couldn’t bring myself to say no.”
Rosa nodded. She was grateful that Cheryl was looking out for Rebel.
“In addition to all of that, she’s doing advanced aerial yoga for like three hours a day. Any more and she’ll either start levitating or run off to join the circus.”
Rosa nodded. “Where is she?”
Cheryl pointed the way. They hugged again, and Rosa went to find her friend. She followed the hall to a wide, high-ceilinged room in the back.
And there was Rebel—swirling around in what looked like fancy bedsheets, on the damn ceiling.
