"This is the life!" I toss my satchel on one of the beds. I don't even care which one. "No more camping in the wilderness, no more snails, no more dirt—"

Something soft whaps the back of my head. "No more yammering partners, how 'bout that?"

"Come off it, Em!"

I throw the pillow back at her. She catches it easily, laughing and fluffing it up before she puts it back. "Toss you for first turn in the shower?"

I win on heads.

I'm not above staying in the shower till the spray turns cold, even though I know Em'll rib me for it. Three weeks without getting really clean is too long. Turns out I don't need to worry; by the time I've got dressed in clean clothes, Em's sprawled on a bed and out like a light. It's not a bad idea; I'm wiped. I shove my satchel onto the floor and spread myself out on top of the covers.

I wake up, I don't know how much later, hearing "Turkey in the Straw" and the scraping noise of Em opening the window. The song gets louder. It's… tinny. I've heard music like that before, somewhere… it's an ice cream truck, that's what it is, and we're way too old for those. Why is Em leaning half out the window listening for it?

I prop myself up on an elbow. She laughs, laughs like a choir of handbells, and pulls her head in. "Hey Luke, you wanna get some—"

I've worked with her for three months and I've never seen her smile like that. I've also never seen a smile fall off her face like that.

"…ice cream," she whispers. "Right."

"You okay, Em?"

This time her laugh is just a muffled rattle. "Yeah, I'm fine. Those are some soft beds! I forgot I wasn't in London."

The ice cream music keeps getting louder; dee dee da dum da dee dee da dum, dee dee da dum da dee dee da dum… "Sweet tooth?" I ask.

"Not me." Em turns around and slams the window shut. "God, I need that shower. You better not have used all the hot water, Dove." She grabs her bag.

"You all right, Em?"

"I'm fine, I already told you!"

Before I can keep asking questions, she shuts the bathroom door in my face.