“That’s a good color on you.” I can hardly get the words out as a hard roll of nausea razors through me, and I moan as if I were about to give birth to a black bear myself. That’s exactly what it feels like, a two-ton beast trying to claw its way out of my intestines every freaking morning—afternoonandevening on some days,too.
“Geez!” Trixie screeches as both she and Harley back up to the door. “If you keep puking like that, I’m going to start calling you Old Barfing Faithful. I told you, all you needed was to take a couple of sick days and knock this thing out. Butno”—she tosses a used sock at me while plugging her nose with her free hand—“you have to be the ridiculous brave one who toughs it out.” She grabs her backpack off the floor. “I’ve got a media club meeting in ten minutes. When I get back, I’m going to tuck you in, and you’re not getting out of bed until the color comes back to your cheeks, sweetie. Don’t go anywhere. I have mad topographical skills, and I will hunt you down and find you.” She bats her lashes at me as she takesoff.
“I’d better get going, too.” Harley stands, holding a couple of glosses and what appears to be a full-sized sample of my favorite Better Than Sex Mascara. My wimpy little lashes are forever indebted to that magical stuff—so much so I’m beginning to think the moniker is aptlygiven.
“Enjoy it all. I know it’ll look great on you.” My mind wanders back to that infamous frat party. I can’t believe I hadsexlast December. It’s just something I can’t seem to wrap my head around. Mostly because I can’t seem to remember it. I guess that means it was pretty uneventful. Honestly, I had no business throwing myself at Eli Gates of all people. He’s a notorious womanizer who probably bedded a long line of girls that night. No wonder he has no problem looking me in the eye whenever he’s around. He’s not the least bit ashamed of what we’ve done. Having sex to someone like Eli is equivalent to a bodily function. I was nothing more than an extension of his toilet seat that night. Disgusting. The thought makes me feel ten times more nauseous than the smell of those boxes did, and I moan my way to the bed while holding mystomach.
“Hey, are you okay?” Harley comes over and lands her cool hand over myforehead.
“Oh, that feels good,” I groan and do my best to hold her captivethere.
“You don’t have a fever. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were knocked up. My best friend in high school had a similar extendedflu.” She saysfluin air quotes. “And nine months later, she had a bouncing baby girl. Brought her to prom andeverything.”
“Nice.” My chest rattles at the thought. “But I’m not knockedup.”
“Oh, I know you’re not.” She gives a dark laugh as she hits the door. “Serena doesn’t call you The Holy Virgin Born on a Sunday for nothing.” She gives a little wink. “We V’s need to stick together. By the way, I’m convinced Serena is one, too!” She shuts the door as she takes off, and I give a little chuckle. As much as I love Serena, she can be a pain in the ass. She’s not a virgin, is she? She swore up and down she slept with Heath Hathaway last year at the quasi-high school reunion beach bash that lasted three solid days. Huh. But I didn’t believe her then, and I don’t see why I should now. Serena has a long history of making me believe she’s ahead of the curve, only to later discover she’s not even in the driver’s seat or in the rightrace.
Harley’s words come back to me.Knocked up.I roll over, and my insides beg to ingest themselves. I can’t be knocked up. I spent one lousy night with a guy, and I had a condom withme.
I suck in a sharp breath and sit straight up. “My God, my God!” My voice hikes into its upper register. I have no clue if we used a condom that night. I reach for my phone and peel the case back, revealing the purple foil packet still firmly in place. Trixie is the one I snagged it from. God knows my brother has a never-ending supply, and now, apparently, so do I. My heart drums into my ears as I stare at itblankly.
“It doesn’t matter.” I laugh to myself like a madwoman. “He probably had hisown.”
God. He hadbetterhave had his own. I bet a pro like Eli glides one on before he ever gets to theparty.
My stomach twists and turns as if I were on a roller coaster with a never-ending loop. Besides, I just had myper—
“Oh. My. God.” I pull up my period app and note it’s been suspiciously inactive since November thirtieth. “WHAT?” I scream so loud the girls in the next room pound on the wall. “Oh, screw you,” I say, only I don’t have the energy needed to deliver itproperly.
I can’t be knocked up. That’s not something that happens to me—it’s not on the list—hell, it’s not on any list I’ve ever made. A tiny laugh bubbles from my throat because it happens to be true. When and if I do get knocked up, I will be firmly in a loving stable relationship, preferably with a giant rock on my left hand and living in the Hamptons. Getting knocked up will be very much on the list at that point in my life, but until then, this is a nonstarter forme.
“It’s just the flu,” I whisper, picking up my purse and heading out the door. “Everyone gets the mothereffing flu,” I say as I make a beeline for the parkinglot.
I drive like a bat out of norovirus hell and head straight to the farthest pharmacy in the seediest part of Jepson, buying up every makeup counter in sight, buying an industrial sized box of tampons, two boxes of pads that qualify as diapers, and one measly—and, my God, is it ever overpriced—pregnancy test. There. The cashier won’t suspect a thing, and I’ll finally catch some long-sought-after Zzz’s tonight once I reassure myself that the last place I’ll be visiting is themotherhood.
An outwardly bored teenager rings me up and bags my copious purchases. She waves the box that holds my future in its hands and winks my way. “Pro tip—wrap it up like a used maxi pad when you’re finished with it. That way your nosey ass mother won’t find it on the sink and call you a ho at the next family dinner.” Her affect grows increasingly hard as if she were reliving a memory, and I’m pretty sure sheis.
“Duly noted,” I say, snatching the box and sinking it deep inside my purse. There’s no way I’m risking it to tumble out as I schlep half of CVS up to mydorm.
Besides, my dead mother won’t have to worry about calling me aho.
I’m not knocked up. This is just the damnflu.
Pro tip—never sleep with Eli Gatesagain.
* * *
My God.My God! My life is suddenly nothing but a blur. The drive back to Whitney Briggs, crawling back up to my dorm, spilling all my panicked purchases at my feet as I sit on the floor, examining that silly box with its incessant death rattle—I remember none of it. Instead, I shove that silly cardboard box and all the crap I’ve incurred because of it on the shelf behind me and get back to work. I have a vlog to tend to, giveaways to flaunt before my faithful followers. I need to focus on what’s real in my life right now—school, my beauty biz that I plan on extrapolating into a mini cosmetics-based empire, and being happy. It feels as if I’ve done nothing but wallow in misery ever since that fateful night at Beta Kappa Phi. Deep down, I knew I would regret the decision to let down my hair and pretend I was Serena. And my God! Serena doesn’t even sleep around. What the hell was Ithinking?
I shake it all off, take a deep swig from my water bottle, and get to doing what I do best—live streaming my very nextvlog.
“Hey, guys! It’s Sunday Knight, and I’m super excited to share all of the delectable delights that were sent my way this afternoon! I can’t wait to try some of these delicious new treats. I feel and look like crap, so you’ll really see a transformation happening today.” The comments feed is running like ticker tape, and it momentarily distracts me. I cast a quick glance theirway.
Real transformation! Crying anddying!
Sunday! OMG!Congratulations!
Aw! What a way to tell us! You are so freakingfunny!
