“We can’t leave her here,” Ramona said, picking up the chair and handing it off to someone.
“Sure you can,” Dylan said, but Ramona was already hefting her upright, hands under Dylan’s arms. The world tilted, as did Dylan’s stomach, her brain, everything.
“I got you,” Ramona said, circling one arm around Dylan’s waist and looping one of Dylan’s own arms around her shoulder.
“Mona, you can’t walk with her like that all the way back to your house,” April said.
“We’ll call you a car,” Carrie said flatly.
“No,” Dylan said. Her head felt so heavy. “Wanna walk, fresh air.”
“Bad idea,” Curls said.
“Dylan, for god’s sake.” This from Jack, who’d just come outside with his hands on his hips.
Herfather. Authority figure and everyone’s hero. Oh, wait,formativehero. Can’t forget howformativehe’d been for everyone.
“You’re being extremely rude and hurtful,” he said firmly.
“Oh,” Dylan said, squinting at her dad. She thought she might be getting drunker by the second. “Did I say that out loud too?”
“Uh, yeah,” April said. “Awks.”
“Super awks,” Dylan said, then shot a finger gun at April.
“We really need to get her somewhere safe,” Ramona said, still holding tight to Dylan.
“Oh, oh, Mom and Dad,” Dylan said. “This is Ramona. Isn’t she pretty?” Dylan leaned her head against Ramona’s.
Carrie pressed her mouth together. “You need to get to bed. And drink some water, take some ibuprofen.”
“Second that,” Curls said.
“They’re a doctor,” April said, motioning to Curls. “Dylan’s in good hands.”
“Righto,” Dylan said. More finger guns. God, she couldn’t stop shooting finger guns at everyone. Her mother was right. She needed to be put away, hidden, the shameful only daughter of icons.
“My car isn’t too far,” Curls said. “Left it downtown last night.”
“Perfect,” Ramona said. “Thanks, Leigh.”
“Fine,” Carrie said. “Thank you all, so much. Dylan, we’ll call you later.”
“Oh, can’t wait for that,” Dylan said, sans finger guns this time, because she was very suddenly and very violently not feeling awesome. Her stomach crawled everywhere, jittering up her throat and then into her arms, fingertips, then back again. She felt herself swinging away from Ramona, stumbling down the cobbled sidewalk as people watched. Or, rather, as they watched through their phones, cameras recording.
Laurel was going to kill her. Rayna was also going to kill her, then find a witch to resurrect her just so she could kill her again. Gia, god, who the fuck knew what Gia would do? Fire her, probably. Fuck. She was a mess. Made terrible decisions. How did she always make such terrible decisions?
“I think she’s going to puke,” Curls said.
“Am not,” Dylan said.
“Do it now, rather than in my car, please.”
“Amnot,” Dylan said again, but then she froze on the curb, pressed a hand to her stomach. And as it turned out, Curls was right.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
