When Sid’s hand leaves my forehead, I’m relieved. “Well, Doctor? Do I have a fever?”
“I can’t tell. I’m still hot from the gym, so I don’t think my measurements are going to be very accurate.” She shrugs. “My mom always seemed really confident when she did that, but yeah, I don’t know.”
Sidney sits on the bed across from me and pulls her phone out of her pocket, holding it up in front of her face.
“You’re taking a selfie in my dorm room while I puke.”
Sidney is rolling her eyes at me when I hear buzzing and then my mom’s voice fills the room.
“Sidney.” She sounds happy to hear from her. I can tell she’s smiling without even seeing her.
“Hey, Sylvie.” She lets out a little sigh. “So I don’t want to worry you, but Asher’s sick, and I’m not sure what I should do. I figured you’re probably the expert on this.”
My mom makes a sympathetic awwww sound, and says “Hi, sweetie” really loudly, like I’m farther than five feet away and I might not hear her. “Does he have a fever?”
“He doesn’t have a thermometer. I felt with my hand, but I just got out of conditioning, so I’m hot. It’s hard to tell. But I think so? He’s all sweaty and gross.”
“Ditto,” I mutter, hoping my mom didn’t hear. Sid tries to hide a smile.
“He’s still his sassy self though, so I don’t think he’s on the verge of death or anything.”
“All we can really ask for,” Mom says. “Does he have any ibuprofen?”
Sidney looks to me, and I shake my head.
“I have some in my room,” Sidney says.
“Give him three of those. And again in four hours.”
Sid nods like she’s sitting in a lecture, taking notes.
“Make sure he doesn’t dehydrate. The orange Gatorade is his favorite. Not the melon stuff, the orange,” Mom says, very seriously, like melon Gatorade could be my demise.
Sid nods, also very seriously. “Got it.”
“You’ll stay with him?” My mom’s voice sounds nervous.
“Yeah, of course.”
“You don’t have to,” I say, just as my mom says, “Thank you.”
“That’s pretty much it. If he’s still at it tomorrow, make him go to the campus clinic.”
“Got it.” Sid gives the phone a thumbs-up. “Thanks, Sylvie.”
“You, too, sweetie.”
Sidney tucks the phone back in her pocket. “I’m going to runto my room for the ibuprofen. And I’ll get you some Gatorade; I think they have it at the little convenience store inside the dining hall.”
I’m lying on my back, eyes shut, but I push myself up onto one elbow. “You don’t have to, Sid. I’m fine.”
“I told your mom I would.” She turns toward the door, not taking her backpack. “I’ll be back.”
Most of my day alternates between sleeping and puking. In between, Sidney makes trips to the bathroom (using the soap she brought back along with the ibuprofen and Gatorade). Whenever I wake up, she’s sitting on Ryan’s bed, a book spread across her lap, thumbing through pages and scribbling in the notebook propped up on one knee.
“Don’t you have class?”
“Just one. And Ellie’s bringing me notes.”
