I squeal as he lunges for more foam to launch at me and I’m having so much fun that I’m almost dizzy with it. Just then my stomach lurches and—oh no. It hits me. This isn’t like the nerves I get when I have to talk in front of the whole class or the butterflies I’ve felt in my stomach every time I talk to Greg. It starts like a wave at the pit of my stomach, but then it turns into a volcano.
I don’t feel so good.
My body doesn’t even give me a second to try to hold it in.
I puke. Barf. Yak. Upchuck. Lose my lunch. Blow chunks. Whatever you want to call it. I vomit everywhere. And the first thing I can think is who in the heck had the genius idea to serve us cake and pizza before we jumped ourselves silly under black lights? Isn’t this what adults are for? To predict all the ways something can go totally and completely awfully wrong? If I have to wait an hour afterI eat to swim, what adult in their right mind would pump me full of food and soda and then send me to bounce my face off in a trampoline park?
It takes a second for the people around me to notice that what they’ve just been sprayed with was definitely not foam.
I can feel the mortification setting in. I can already see how this moment will follow me for the rest of my life. All the way to high school graduation. I’ll have to get far away from this town and everyone in it to escape this exact moment defining me in college and adulthood.
“Bring up the lights!” shouts Ricky.
It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust, but when they do, I see the damage, and it’s not good. I guess it’s not every day that you puke on your archnemesis, your BFF, a teenage boy, and a boy who makes you so nervous you feel like you could puke all over again.
I wrap my arms around my tummy. “I don’t feel so good.”
Oscar gasps. “Oh my gosh, Sweet Pea! Are you okay?” His voice drops a little when he realizes midsentence that he’s also been targeted by the second coming of my pizza and cake.
Greg wipes a speck of my puke off his glasses. I wish I could magically disappear.
Kiera shrieks. “Did you really just puke on me? At my own birthday party? That you weren’t even invited to, youweirdo! You’ve ruined it. You’ve ruined my whole party! This is so gross.” Her eyes begin to water, and I can’t believe she’s the one who’s about to cry when I just completely embarrassed myself in front of everyone.
“Kiera,” Mrs. Bryant scolds. “Oh, Sweet Pea, let’s call your parents. Or I mean, your mom. Or your dad.”
Mr. Bryant grunts, and his wife swats at his arm, nailing him pretty hard.
She looks back to me. “Who should we call, dear?”
My gaze scans the room, and I see the face of every single person in my class. They’re an even split between horror and hysterical laughter. “My dad,” I say, my lip quivering as I begin to cry. I can’t hold it in this time.
My mouth tastes sour, and I feel a little sweaty and dizzy, but no amount of discomfort can quiet the fiery rage I feel.
It’s official. I hate Kiera Bryant.
Dear Miss Flora Mae,
This is the second time I’m writing to you, even though you never responded to my first letter. I’m not sure if my letter got lost or what, but I’m trying again. I think my best friend is dumping me. She’s hanging out with new girls who are older than me. And even though I think this is not at all important when deciding to be friends with someone, they’re prettier and skinnier than me too. She’s been avoiding me all summer, and I’m scared I’m going to start fifth grade best friend-less.
Sometimes I get really angry and I wonder if it’s even worth trying to win her back. What’s the point?
But she’s my first real best friend, and I can’t imagine my heart ever hurting more than it does right now. I want her to be my best friend again, but do I even want to be friends with someone who would dump me so easily?
Sincerely,
Heartbroken in Valentine
