Room 223, Tuesday Midmorning

Just as suddenly as she'd turned into a guinea pig the week before, Tara came back to her own body.

There were probably slightly more elegant ways to do it than face-down in a dish of guinea pig chow, with seeds and pellets lining your cheeks, but she wasn't going to complain. She spat the chow into the trashcan -- ew -- and then looked around the room.

Could she really be surprised Kennedy had set up the most elaborate guinea pig play area known to woman?

She pulled on clothes and went to get some real food and find out what she'd missed.