Something is wrong with my mouth. Or my brain? Kissing Hart must have killed a few cells up there.
“There’s no prettier version of me.”
I hear Nate’s laughter, and it causes a weird mixture of relief and panic inside of me. In a second this will all be over, and I will have my life back. I can be Nicko again, who sits unbothered in his biology classes and doesn’t have to think about his life goals. Nicko, who technically never kissed Alexander Hart.
But also Nicko, who secretly did kiss Alexander Hart, and who’s going to play left wing on fourth line again, because no one knows he scored three times in the last two games.
I reach for the handrail to heave myself into a standing position, but the moment I do that, everything lurches and I stumble sideways.
Two hands are reaching for me, and just the pressure on my back is enough to identify them as Nate’s. I don’t need to see him in order to recognize his presence, strong and unwavering and familiar.
“NICKO!” he shrieks, and I grimace because I’m a bit tipsy, not deaf. But just before I can tell him off, everything lurches again.
I really thought I emptied myself of all the Jell-o shots and pumpkin beer, but I’m proven wrong in the most painful way as it shoots up my throat and pours all over the sad remains of Mr. Skullyngton.
Nicko, October 28th
There’s someone in bed with me.
A warm body is pressed against my back, a pair of arms wrapped around my middle. My first thought goes to Nate, even when I already know it’s not him. I will recognize my brother’s presence until my last breath, and while familiar, it isn’t his.
Then, for a horrible second, I think back to last night. Hart’s mouth smashing against mine in a frenzy, my hands pulling on his collar to drag him down.
Oh no. No!
Please, don’t let this be Hart. I will donate a part of my signing bonus to a good cause and start saying my evening prayers again, just, please not Hart!
The person next to me stirs as I try to wiggle out of the embrace, carefully feeling around. I’m still wearing a shirt and underwear, so that’s a huge relief. I try to lift my head next and immediately regret it when lightning bolts pierce my brain. A low whine escapes me and I sink back onto the pillow. Bright spots dance on the inside of my lids as I try to figure out where I am or what happened after I left the party.
There’s more rustling from beside me, followed by a yawn.
“Nicko?” Linden’s voice whispers, and I relax.
Thank God!
“Nicko?” he says again, and I groan to indicate that I’m alive. My mouth tastes like rotten pumpkin and bad decisions. I hope it wasn’t like that when Hart kissed me last night. The guy may think I’m a raging asshole, but I want to be remembered as an asshole with excellent dental hygiene.
“Are you alright?” Linden’s face looms right before my eyes when I open them. I give him a gentle push so he won’t be gassed by my terrible morning breath.
“No.”
I try to act dignified, but my movements are rather pitiful when I finally manage to sit up and survey my surroundings. I’m in my own bed. Theonlybed in the room. No second desk, no second dresser.
There is, however, a lot of evidence that my brother occupied this space for two weeks: half of my closet is strewn across the room; shirts are flung over the chair; discarded underwear piles up in one corner; and a single sock is used as a bookmark inKeeping Noah, which has somehow found its way up here.
“Do you need to throw up again?” Linden looks at me with a deep frown. His light hair is sticking up in all directions, undermining the authority he’s trying to convey.
I wordlessly shake my head, then clear my throat.
“How did I get here? And why are you in bed with me? I thought we agreed we’re notthatkind of friends.” I add the last part with a small grin, which predictably causes my friend’s cheeks to flush bright red.
“Asshole! After Micah carried you up here, someone had to make sure you wouldn’t suffocate on your own puke,” he grumbles, giving me a light shove.
I cringe at the thought of my roommate carrying me. The last memory I have is of Mr. Skullyngton and–
“Nate?” I ask, and Linden’s face darkens immediately.
“We thought he really overstayed his welcome last night.”
