“Owie. You hit me, brother.”
“Put the damn fork down!”
I ignore him. Closing one eye to watch the worm move. Then focus, hand steady, and the target is acquired.
“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. I ATE THE WORM, BRO. IT’S IN ME. IT’S EATING MY TUMMY. IT’S HEADED TOWARD MY BALLS. FEEDING ON ME. LOOK.”
I stab the fork into my pelvis. Try to stop the worm. His long, red eyes went into my waistband. Two new eyes form. Big, bright, and even more red.
“What the fuck?”
Mas steps into the bathroom with me.
Watches the worm.
“Give me the fucking fork. Where did you find this?”
He wrestles it out of my hand. Shoves me back onto the toilet. Crushes my worm-killing sword in his hand, dropping the pieces into my trash can overflowing with Dude Wipes.
He says something else, but I don’t hear it. The worm is whispering now. I need to listen until the phone rings.
Help is on the way.
I run out of the bathroom. Follow the sound to the phone on the kitchen counter. Holli’s name on the screen. I answer it, put him on speaker. Why not bring the whole squad into this intervention?
“Where the fuck were you last night? WHERE? HOLLI BALLS!”
Massi groans as he barrels toward me. His face blurs into two, like that fucking movie Face Off.
“MASSIMO! IT’S HOLLI BALLS!”
He has two index fingers, both pointing at me. I rub my eyes, but it’s true. Two pointer fingers, ten fingers on one hand. Lucky. He has a super tunnel on his dick when he’s choking his chicken.
He’s on me, trying to wrestle the phone away. I throw an elbow into his gut. He grunts and doubles over, wheezing. I run to the other side of the kitchen. Keeping the island between us.
“Hey, I’ve got to tell you something. But shhhhhh, don’t tell Massi.”
I slap a hand over the receiver, going left every time Mas goes right. It’s making the worm slosh around my stomach.
“You remember when we drank the mezcal from that weird bottle that smelled like old salsa? The night I almost died?”
My brain hiccups.
“Wait . . . wait . . . did I die? Holli, did I die and you’re calling me here in Heaven?”
I stagger backward, slipping on an empty pizza box. Gripping the edge of the counter to stay upright.
“HOLY SHIT. IS JESUS HERE?”
I spin toward the living room mirror, half expecting him to appear behind me like a guest star on The Good Place. Glorious in a white robe with nail-scarred hands. Except there’s nothing here. Just me, covered in glitter, hair pointing in seventeen directions, and my big bro rounding the island like he’s about to attack me.
I barely hear Holli Balls telling me I’m not dead and not going to Heaven. That I’m wasted off my ass.
“I knew it. Massimo said that mezcal was just artisanal, but I saw the worm move, bro. It had, like, a vendetta against me. I showed it. I ate the worm. It’s in me.”
I spin in a circle, trying to show him where the worm is through the phone. I lift my shirt, pointing to my stomach. The glitter flies into the sunlight.
“Do you see it swimming around? It’s right here? Do you see it?”
