Clara avoids Nolan for the rest of the day. It's better this way. As much as she wants to befriend him, she's used to being alone. Another day without companionship won't be unbearable. Tomorrow, Clara will try again. Or maybe she'll give him until the day after that. She would like to avoid a third disastrous encounter, if possible.

For now, she decides to hide in her secret place. The roof is broad and flat and absent of everyone but Clara. Birds occasionally congregate, but they don't notice Clara any more than humans ever do. Clara sleeps up here whenever the weather is amenable. The pool fills her days and the stars fill her nights.

Clara is certain that Nolan won't find her up here. The managers keep the hatch leading to the roof locked. This is a problem for Nolan and any other breathing human, but not for Clara. She has a set of keys, which is and is not the night manager's set. She swipes it from behind his desk every evening, and the keys become Clara's possession, but only from her perspective. To the manager, they never move. She has even taken them right when the manager is reaching for them, about to grab the set himself. He never notices her snatch the keys away from his grasp. Even Clara can tell as she clutches them to her chest that the manager's version of the keys are still in front of him. Clara has the keys but doesn't have the keys. It is a logic puzzle with little logic.

The night manager picks up his version of the keys as if nothing has happened. And apparently, to him, nothing has. This is how little impact Clara is able to have on their world. Until Nolan, that is.

Nolan can see her—he's seen her twice now, a fact that still amazes Clara. But he won't see her tonight. Nolan has never been on the roof so there is little chance of another unplanned encounter as long as she remains here.

Clara keeps blankets and a pillow stuffed in a crate next to a vent. She borrowed these from a room long ago. Of course, no one missed them, as there was nothing to miss. Being able to take objects from the breathing world and infuse them into hers has had many benefits. Tourists come with all kinds of nice things. Clara's wardrobe is a sight to behold. Every time a teenage girl roughly Clara's size stays at the hotel, Clara goes into high alert. Normally, there is something she can take that will suit her. She has countless swimsuits, dresses and sunglasses. Winter clothes are harder to come by because fewer people visit during the off season. Luckily for Clara, she doesn't have to worry about frostbite.

Clara takes other things too, like books and computers and phones. The books are wonderful, but the electronics won't work for her. She's tried over and over again. She would very much like to go online and explore the world outside the hotel. It's possible she can even communicate with humans this way. She would like to have an email account, or even explore social media.

The night manager spends most of his time on Facebook. Clara likes all of the pictures of smiling people that she observes as he scrolls down his page. She dreams of having her own profile. She'd love to get messages from smiling people. None of her online friends would need to know what she really is. Unfortunately, computers and Clara don't play well together. She can never get past the login screen.

Eventually, Clara has to admit defeat. She will not make friends through the wonders of the Internet.

Clara wishes she could grasp onto people the way she can inanimate objects, but when she tries, there is no sensation at all. She clings to air. It's the same with animals. She can touch the mundane but not the living. Clara chooses not to believe in fate, because if she did, she'd have to believe that fate is cruel—not in general, but to her in particular. Clara doesn't want to think she's been singled out for persecution. She doesn't want to believe her future is predetermined. She wants to do the determining herself.

Clara has decided to believe in karma and past lives instead. Perhaps she did something once, a lifetime ago, and because of it, now she's here, where karma has placed her. If she is very, very good, karma will land her in a different sort of life someday, a life of eating and breathing and human contact. Clara wonders if her version of stealing really counts as theft, since no one misses the things she takes. Do her filched possessions amount to a mountainous karmic strike against her? She wishes she had had the opportunity to steal more books about karma.

Clara lies back on her makeshift rooftop bed. She might not have to breathe or eat, but she does get tired. She closes her eyes and doesn't open them again until the midmorning sun has peeked up over the trees.