Chapter 10, in which Skye wakes up hung over after a night of overindulgence and mishaps:

Still cocooned in blankets, I rolled away from the light and sounds and fell off the other side of the bed with a whump, face first into the scratchy hotel carpet. I heard someone whimper, and realized it was me.

I struggled with my linen restraints, but only ended up rolling to the nearby wall. My arms pinned, legs bundled together like a mermaid’s tail, all I only managed pathetic flopping around. I could ask Frannie for help, but my pride forbade that. My pride and I wormed around on the floor, dragging blankets and sheets off the bed with me as I propped myself against the wall and pushed with my feet.

Frannie cavorted around the room, arms and legs flailing, red hair thrown this way and that. I had a weird impression that it was a tribal ritual or some terrible spell meant to raise the dead. She sang along with the music blaring from her phone. Then she noticed me. She laughed. “Oh Skye, I should take a picture.”

“Do it and die,” I said, giving her my worst skunk eye.