My eyes dart to the sound system, and since I’ve given into my inner psycho, I head straight to it and yank the plug out of the wall.
The silence makes everyone look up, and I realize I’m staring at my brother, who looks horrified to see me. And then I realize why and turn away before I hurl. Because the girl down on her knees in front of him is obviously not praying.
Jesus, I’m gonna need so much therapy one day.
I clear my throat and address the crowd at large. “Some people have to work tomorrow, assholes. Can you keep it the fuck down? Stop terrorizing this neighborhood. The worlddoes notrevolve around you and your dumb football games!”
I’m screeching. I can’t help it. I’m half-asleep and so hungry I’m nauseous. My eyelids flutter.
God, I feel woozy.
It’s almost like…
Almost like… that time I passed out.
Oh, shit. Am I going to pass out again?
I can’t remember the last time I ate. Jason and I were supposed to get dinner, which turned into soggy nachos from the gas station, which I passed on.
I blink. And blink again.
Everything feels fuzzy, like it’s wrapped in film. I don’t even care that Jason is here, and he’s missing clothes.
“Shit, Gabby. This isn’t what it looks like.”
Ignoring him, I stumble to what I think is the front door, lean against it, and close my eyes.
I want to tell Jason to leave me alone, except I’m afraid I’m going to drop to the floor if I let go of the doorframe.
Then I hear the little cry.
It sounds like a baby.
And that’s when I know I must be losing my mind.
7
RIDER
Bang,bang, bang!
I crack open my eyes, surprised to hear anything with these noise-cancelling headphones on. They really are amazing.
My door rattles with another series of knocks.
“Hold on, fucker. I’m coming.”
My bed is blissfully empty.
I’m starting to wonder if something’s wrong with me. We have a roaring party, and the last thing I’m interested in is getting laid.
Truth be told, watching my friends get shitfaced tonight just made me feel like an old man with my one beer and early bedtime. But no one wins a national championship guzzling booze and staying up all night. The guys on the team know to keep their intake to one or two beers.
After dragging my sore ass out of bed and pulling on some sweatpants, I yank open the door. “This better be good.”
Michael Oliver, who we call Olly, holds up his hands. “We got a problem, chief.”
I scrub my face with both palms. “Is the house on fire? Did a tornado blow through? Is there a plague of locusts raining down on our yard?”
