Singing Karaoke—“No Air,” no less—with Colin.
Cornering Wade on the dance floor to confront him about the program.
“Why won’t you talk about it?” I slurred. He wiped his face before walking away, and I’m mortified to realize now that I must have spit on him.
I groan from my place on someone else’s floor. I lick my teeth and they feel furry, coated in sugar and alcohol and something else—maybe hot dogs. I smell puke nearby but don’t want to move to see where it is. Just then, the bass gets really loud, like someone opened the door.
“I think it’s in here,” a guy’s voice says. “Hang on.”
Footsteps crunch on the carpet as the guy navigates the tiny room. I hold my breath because I don’t know if I’m supposed to be in here. The boy steps so close to my right hand that my fingers touch his treads. He gasps when he sees me.
“Holy shit! You scared me!” he says.
“Sorry,” I mutter. My mouth is dry as dust.
“What are you doing down there?”
“Resting,” I say.
“How long have you been in here?”
I shrug.
“Uh… okay. Well, stay as long as you like,” the guy says, inching his way back toward the door. “Or do you want me to call someone?”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I already called my friend Audrey.”
I did? I don’t remember talking to her.
“Oh, good,” the guy says, backing away carefully so as not to step on my listless body. “I’ll have the doorman watch out for your friend. I’ll tell him to tell her where you are.”
I don’t answer because my eyes are closed.
Three minutes or three hours later, someone jostles me. I want to protest and roll into a ball and kick them away for disturbing my coma, but my mouth doesn’t work. My body doesn’t work. So, without any say in the matter, I’m carried into the night, tucked into a car, and driven far, far away.
twelve
“Daisy? Are you awake?” Mason calls from across the food court at the mall. He’s sitting at a table with Cassie and Nora Fitzgerald, and they’re all staring at me. He knocks twice on the table, like he’s rapping out some kind of code. He knocks a third time, then looks at me expectantly like I’m supposed to know what he’s saying.
“Daisy?” he calls again.
Confused, I look across the table. Matt is there.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Answer him.”
And then a firm hand on my shoulder pulls me from the dream.
I open my eyes to a startling but welcome sight: Matt is lying on his side, facing me, in real life. I suck in my breath at the sight of him.
“Answer your dad,” he whispers calmly. I furrow my eyebrows.
“Answer him or he’ll want to come in,” Matt explains.
Getting it, I try to call back, but nothing comes out. I clear my throat, which reminds me of Mr. Jefferson. I wonder if his issue is that he drinks. Finally, I manage to find my voice.
“I’m awake,” I say loudly, cringing.
I stare into Matt’s dark eyes; he stares into mine. I’d ask what he’s doing here if words didn’t hurt.