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He looked back at the video. On screen, a fire dancer was tracing a heart in the air with sparks. A hundred people cheered. A girl with blue hair blew a kiss to the drone.

A montage set to a bass drop that felt like a heart attack. Girls in metallic bikinis walked through a lobby that smelled like chlorine and coconut sunscreen. Guys with chests waxed shinier than their rental Jeeps slapped each other on the back. A hyper-literate voiceover said: "You don't choose your squad. The wristband does."

The internet, as it always does, sold him a dream. The first image was a drone shot of a resort in Cancún. It looked like a Roman palace designed by a rave promoter. A massive, serpentine pool wrapped around a central stage where a DJ booth was shaped like a grinning skull. The caption read: "Where Memory Goes to Die." Searching for- Spring Break Fuck Parties in-All...

Leo closed the laptop.

He had two choices: the "Budget & Backpacking" link, which promised muddy fields, warm beer, and sleeping in a car with three other guys. Or, the "Lifestyle & Entertainment" filter. He looked back at the video

The website asked for his deposit. $350.

The "Lifestyle & Entertainment" tag was a promise that for seven days, you could trade your GPA for a dopamine drip. You could become a character in a music video. The marketing wasn't selling a hotel room; it was selling a version of yourself that didn't check email, didn't have a 9 AM, and didn't care that you just spent your entire tax refund on a VIP cabana. A girl with blue hair blew a kiss to the drone

He clicked the latter.