Page 32

I wander around, throwing open drawers and cabinet doors, because the duster isn’t where I remember it being. Eventually, I open the hallway closet, and I see the feathery head at the top, far out of reach. I sigh with exasperation, then drag over a kitchen chair and clamber onto it, my limbs trembling with strain.

I reach for the duster, rising to my tiptoes. I’m looking at it. It’s within reach.

But then the image swirls, my weight evaporates, and the world goes black.

I only realize what’s happening when my body collides with the hardwood floor. The pain is so sudden, so all-consuming, that all I can do is lie still for several seconds, agony radiating through me like electricity. I can’t cry or scream or breathe.

It hurts.

Eventually, a staggering gasp enters my lungs. My ribs, hips, knees, shoulders, and neck throb at different, disorienting levels of pain that I can’t distinguish. I’m not sure how long I lie immobile, wondering how many bones I’ve fractured. I have my phone…Maybe I should call an ambulance? No, God no, those things are money swallowers.

I’ll ride this out until the pain recedes. Though I’m not sure I’ll be able to get up. It’s like the floor absorbed every fragment of my energy.

My fingers curl around my phone. I manage to draw it out and unlock the screen, then call Mom. She must be with a client, though, because there’s no answer.

Dad is next. He sends me to voicemail and then shoots me a text: Everything okay? I’m about to meet with my boss. Can I call you back in a bit?

Somehow, I manage to type out and send the words Everything is fine. See you tonight.

Of all the times this could’ve happened, why now? I took my iron supplements and ate this morning, so why would I faint at such an inopportune moment? Logan is my last hope. It rings once. Twice. Three times.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” I try steadying my voice, but it’s thick and raspy with pain. My wrist clunks against the wooden floor. I don’t have the strength to hold the phone up. “Just wondering if you’ll be back soon?”

Logan is quiet, like he can sense something’s wrong. “I was planning on studying here for the afternoon,” he admits. “Are you okay?”

I’m not sure what to say. It’s not fair of me to pull him from his plans because I did something ridiculous and have to pay the consequences for it. What is he supposed to do when he gets back, anyway? Get me to the couch and then what? I shouldn’t upend his whole day so he can spend ten minutes cleaning up my mess.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Good luck with studying.”

Logan hangs on the line, then makes a noise of uncertainty, and says, “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay,” I murmur.

I’m alone again. I keep lying on my side in the entryway, blinking slow, throbbing everywhere. My vision is blurred as I stare at my list of contacts. I can muscle through this.

“Sunshine?”

The voice startles me out of my daze. I’m in another call—the icon is a picture of Aaron Beckham grinning and licking whipped cream off his fingers. I wonder if I made that his contact photo, or if he seized my phone and did it himself. I hear two men bickering in the background, and an echoing sound, like they’re all in an empty house.

“Don’t tell me you miss me so much that you’re calling just to hear my voice,” he says. I can hear the smile in his words.

I wasn’t anticipating having a conversation with Aaron. My fingers must’ve been operating on their own to find his name.

“Riley?” His voice is less amused. “Is everything okay?”

Everything is fine, because what am I supposed to do if it’s not? He’s at his literal adult job, and I can’t selfishly expect him to drop everything because my body decided to be dramatic today.

But I can’t hang up. My fingers won’t move.

“I can hear you breathing,” Aaron says, the worry rising in his voice. “Say anything. Please.”

“…Sorry.”

I don’t know what else to say.

“Where are you?” Aaron demands.