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weeks. I don’t even know how I’m going to survive tonight , Kayla thought.  Let alone the next few weeks .  The tension was thick, like the cloud of smog hanging over Bangkok on that very first day. It seemed liked a lifetime ago that she’d stepped off that bus. That Sam had tapped on her shoulder . . . No . She forced the memory to the back of her mind, locking it away in a box marked “Sam.” She’d reopen it later, when she was alone.
    “Kayla, honey, your father and I have been thinking,” Martha started, glancing at Mark for approval. He nodded. “We think you should see someone. You know, professionally.”
    “But—­”
    “No, please listen to what I have to say. Your father and I, well . . . we’d love to talk to you about all of this, and of course we will, sweetheart, whatever you need. But I know you often get frustrated when we aren’t on the same wavelength. It’s hard for us, love. We’re still grieving for your brother.” Martha’s eyes filled with tears, and she gulped down a large mouthful of sauvignon blanc. “It’s difficult for us to imagine coping with two deaths at once, like you are.”
    In the movies when parents suggested therapy, it was standard procedure for the child to kick up a fuss, insist they were fine, run up to the bedroom and slam the door in protest. But it made sense to Kayla, as much as she hated to admit it. She felt a little relieved that she wouldn’t be spending all of her days in her bedroom, allowing toxic thoughts to manifest into rage, depression, or paranoia inside her head. She needed to let it out. She knew that. She wasn’t so blinded by grief that she could convince herself, or anyone else, otherwise. “Okay.”
    Martha’s shoulders, which she hadn’t even realized were hunched in tension, visibly dropped. “Oh honey, thank you. Thank you for understanding. You’re such a great kid, you know . . .” More tears slid down her face, forming a river with the trickles of watery snot escaping from her nostrils. “W-­We’re going to get through this. As a family, and with a little outside help. I know a great lady called Cassie. Cassandra Myers. She helped me immensely, but it’s not just addiction she specializes in. She’s a wonderful grief counselor.”
    “Thanks, Mum. And Dad. Is it okay if I finish my dinner in my room? I think I need to be alone for a while.”
    Mark smiled gently. “Of course, sweetheart, whatever you need. You know where we are if you need anything.”
    No sooner had she closed the bedroom door behind her, perching heavily on the edge of her four-­poster bed, did Kayla realize that needing to be “alone” was another one of those clichés that she was simply expected to spout. And, in reality, it wasn’t at all what she wanted or needed. She hadn’t been properly alone for months.
    Alone wasn’t good.
    Alone was absolutely terrifying.

 
    Chapter 4
    March 30, Thailand
    “I THINK SOMEBODY slipped a hangover in my drink last night.”
    The girls groaned in unison. Bling, mourning the irreparable damage of her favorite dress on the first night. Francesca, voicing her dismay at the dried vomit in her hair. Russia? Well, it was perfectly possible that Russia might not have survived the night.
    “Urgh, I’m sorry I was such a bitch last night, Kayla,” Bling groaned. “If it helps, I think I’m hung over by osmosis.”
    “It’s fine. As long as you’re suffering today, we’re good,” Kayla joked.
    “What happened?” Russia, it seemed, was alive, if not particularly well.
    “The Noodlegate Scandal.”
    “The . . . the what?” Bling couldn’t help but laugh.
    “Someone threw Singapore noodles at Bling, and she came after Sam and I like we’d pissed on her birthday cake.”
    Everyone laughed, and Bling buried her face in her pillow. “Oh God, I’m such a twat.” She looked up, sheepish. “I’ll buy you breakfast to make up for it? I think we all need something in our stomachs besides