“Oh God,” I bubble through another round of heaves. I turn and make a run for the exit, and wouldn’t you know it, the crowd parts like the Red Sea as I dart past them like a projectile vomiting missile. I can’t help but note the terror on their faces. Damncowards.
“It’s just a virus!” I shout as I hit the exit. “Probablynoro!” Like that makes it any better. Why don’t I just go back in there and tell them the cake is laced with anthrax? God, I’m such anidiot.
A handful of people run out the back right along with me and make a beeline for theircars.
“Crap,” I whimper as I stagger toward a couple of old barrels set out front. “I can’t believe this.” I’ve singlehandedly ruined Nolan and Misty’s wedding. Before I can properly feel sorry for myself, Seth pops up, panting and clearly alarmed. I can’t help but note there’s a bit of splatter on the shin of his pants, and I’m secretly hoping he won’t notice, because if Seth is forced to leave the wedding, Mr. and Mrs. Baker will forever hate my family. Oh hell, I probably cinched that by a landslide when I belched out the alphabet without meaningto.
“Sunday.” He jogs in close and warms my bare arms with his hands. “Let me take you back toBriggs.”
“Noooo—” The word stretches out in one horrific burp and, dear God, why am I suddenly possessed by a drunken frat boy? My body does its best rendition of a bucking bronco, and I upchuck right on his dress shirt, another brown river of chocolaty delight. I’m beginning to think Trixie’s mother secretly hatesher.
Hey? Maybe the bonbons were laced with anthrax? And sadly, the thought actually makes me feel better. Once my organs begin shutting down, people will feel sorry for me. Nobody hates the dying girl. And this whole vomiting-my-insides-up-at-the-wedding fiasco will be considered an act of bravery rather than a one-woman biologicalattack.
Seth groans as he takes a solid step back, “You really do hateme.”
“Only on days that end in Y.” I wipe the slobber off my chin as we make a run for Seth’s truck. It’s safe to say I may never gain entry to Serena’s pristine Honda Civicagain.
Seth drives us back to Whitney Briggs with the windows rolled down partway, and even though it’s a balmy thirty degrees out, I don’t seem to mind the fact my face is freezing solid in a grimace. My insides grind. They bubble and brew, percolating all the way back to Cutler Tower, and I vomit up any digestive acids I might have left just before we hit theelevator.
Seth is kind enough to see me all the way into my room, and I fall onto my bed in a heap. Thank God Rush disassembled those birth control loft beds Trixie and I had started out last semester with. Mostly it was to help him cozy up with Trixie while I was gone, but it’s made going to the bathroom a lot less of a midnighthazard.
“Leave,” Igroan.
“Not until I get you some water.” He has the audacity to pluck my shoes off and, oh wow, it feels like I’ve died and gone to foot heaven. Seth takes a water bottle from the mini fridge and places it carefully on the bed next to me. “You want meto—”
“You’re not undressing me.” I drool onto my pillow, and I can feel that coma-like sleep that’s been after me all day, ready to knock me out like a heavyweight fighter coming in for that final TKO. And am I ever welcomingit.
“Goodnight, Sunday.” His voice is soft, and a cool whistling breeze snakes in as he opens the door toleave.
“Seth?”
“Yeah?”
“Thankyou.”
“Any time. I owed you oneanyway.”
And with that, the door closes, and I’m left drifting off to a blissful slumber wondering what in the heck Seth meant by he owed meone?
As much as I hate to admit it, I owe Sethone.
Bigtime.
* * *
Who knewthe flu had a propensity to linger for three weeks straight? February has just peeked over the horizon, and thanks to Cupid I’m about to enter into my busy season—vlogging that is. I’ve just received six boxes—giant boxes—stuffed with every blusher, mascara and beauty sponge under the sun. Usually I’m orgasmically excited on D-Day, but this delivery doesn’t seem to be agreeing with the flu I’ve nicknamed Fred. Rush once had a turtle by that name, and the sight of it made me sick, so it seemed only appropriate that this lingering foodborne, virus-culled monster inside me be aptly named with the same moniker. Fred here obviously dislikes these boxes because the scent of the corrugated cardboard is literally making me want to find the nearest bush andheave.
Trixie and Harley step onto our floor at Cutler Tower, laughing it up over God knows what—probably the fact they seem to be cleverly evading Fred’s best efforts to infect them. How I wish I had their immune system superpowers. It’s becoming painfully clear my DNA was slapped together on a Friday before my chromosomes took off for hormonal happy hour. Have I forgotten to mention I’m a tad touchy? I’m giving the Wicked Witch of the West a run for her green bitchy money in more ways than one. Look at me sideways and see if I don’t pick afight.
“Let me get that,” Trixie volunteers as she takes the bundle of packages from me and lets us into the dorm. “The last thing I need is you puking on my new highlighter combo eyeshadow palette that smells likemarshmallows.”
We spill the boxes onto the floor, and I’m quick to slice them open with my keys. Just as expected, these juicy little packages are filled to the brim with an entire beauty counter’s worth of treasures. A delivery like this only happens at the holidays, and since the biggest heart-shaped holiday of them all is almost upon us, I seem to have scored twice thehaul.
Trixie has been freely digging into my stash, but only because I heavily encourage her to do so. I’m so exhausted lately with trying to keep up with my classes, and doing a giveaway a week is taxing me on the back end. Leaving all these goodies to rot in boxes is tantamount to brandishing cheeseburgers and fries in front of starving frat boys. I can’t let that happen. It’s best Trixie and I put them to gooduse.
“You’ll take some, too, Harley,” I’m quick to make the offer. “And take something for your sister. Valentine’s Day is just around the corner. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.” Her sister, Harper, is dating Trixie’s twin brother, Knox. It’s all a little incestuous here at WB, but I don’t really mind. Everyone seems beyond thrilled with the crisscrossing of family trees. My stomach twists as Serena pops to mind. “Maybe we should give Serena an entire box,” I tease. “Now that she’s dating Eli, she’ll have to disguise herself as a different woman every night just to hold hisinterest.”
Harley belts out a laugh. “Please. The guy is a douche. Serena can do better.” She wrinkles her nose as she pulls out a hot pink sponge. “Besides, they’re not dating. Trust me on that one. He just so happened to be seated all by his lonesome at the Black Bear, enjoying his burger when Serena suddenly found herself on a fifteen-minute break. I’d hardly call that dating.” She holds up a Stila lip gloss for my approval, and Inod.
