Page 135 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

I swallow and keep drawing. Sketch the outline of a small display shelf. Add little price tags in the margins. Write sort out this collab with three question marks.

The porch smells of warm cedar and crayon wax.

Evan leans harder against my arm.

“I’m giving mine muscles,” he informs me.

“Your fox?”

“Yeah. So no one thinks he’s weak.”

“That’s thoughtful.”

The nausea rolls again in a violent surge. My mouth floods with saliva.

I freeze.

Don’t.

Not now.

I inhale slowly through my nose.

Big mistake.

The smell of grilled cheese from earlier hits me like a weapon.

My stomach lurches.

I grip the edge of the table.

“June?”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically.

I am not fine.

The world tilts slightly. Just a degree off center. The lines on my page blur.

I blink hard.

Another wave hits, sharper.

My vision spots.

“Okay,” I whisper to myself.

Evan’s crayon stops moving.

“You look weird.”

“Wow,” I manage weakly. “Rude.”

But my voice doesn’t sound like mine.

It sounds far away.

The nausea spikes so fast it steals my breath.