At least, that’s what it felt like when she woke up the next morning, light streaming in through the gauzy curtains of her bedroom window and knifing its way under her gummy eyelids.
Something buzzed loudly to her left.
Something horrible that surely hated her guts.
This something turned out to be her phone, which, admittedly, didn’t have the sentience to despise her, but the emotion remained all the same. Astrid grabbed the thing off her nightstand and squinted at the screen, only to find a picture of Iris puckering her mouth at Astrid in an air kiss.
It took her a good five seconds to figure out this meant Iris was calling her.
“What?” she said when she finally managed to slide her finger over the screen.
“Oh, so youarealive.”
“Why are you calling me?” No one called anyone anymore, and Iris hated talking on the phone.
“The forty billion texts didn’t seem to have any effect,” Iris said.
Astrid pulled the phone back from her ear and blinked at the device. An amalgam ofWhere the hell are youtexts filled her messages.
“Ugh, sorry,” she said, flopping back onto her pillow and rubbing her temples with her thumb and forefinger.
“Where have you been?”
Astrid paused on that one, images of last night coalescing in her foggy brain. She caught a whiff of her hair, which smelled like a weird mixture of popcorn and pine trees. Her mouth tasted like a swamp.
She was also completely naked.
She sat up.
Fast.
Way too fast.
Room spinning, horrible feeling in her stomach.
And she was naked.
As in...naked. Astrid never slept naked.
She took a few deep breaths, pushing the nausea back down, and tried to puzzle together what happened last night. The movie, that ridiculous cherry stem, the drinking.
Had they... gone to a playground? She vaguely remembered a cold plastic seat, the metallic smell of the swing chains. Holding Jordan’s hand as they soared through the air.
Her stomach swooped at the memory.
Was it even real?
The swoop turned into a lurch as she distinctly remembered bolting off the swing so she could puke into a juniper bush.
After that, Jordan had sobered up a lot quicker than she had. She vaguely remembered getting in the truck, Jordan shoving a water bottle into her hands, windows down and cool night air on her face. Then...
Nothing.
She looked around the room for signs of what she did when shecame home. Her clothes from the night before were folded on the overstuffed armchair in the corner, but not the way she herself would’ve folded them, sleeves all tucked in nicely. No, her blouse’s sleeves were visible, like someone cut the shirt in half lengthwise first, which Astrid never did. Plus, the garment was most likely filthy and belonged in her dry cleaning bag.
There was also a glass of water on her nightstand she had no memory of obtaining, along with a bottle of ibuprofen.
Okay, fine. So maybe Jordan had come in and helped her out a little. Gotten her into bed. No big deal.
