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.
“Good,” Mason calls back through the wall. “Cassie and I are going to get some eggs at the hotel restaurant before heading to the Zimmermans’. We need to be there at eight. Are you coming?”
I wonder for a moment if Matt thinks it’s weird that my dad would call my mom “Cassie” instead of “your mother,” but he doesn’t seem to notice. Then my stomach sloshes in a very bad way and I quit wondering.
“Ask if you can stay here today,” Matt whispers. I nod.
Concerned about dragon breath, I turn my head away from Matt when I speak.
“Would it be okay if I hung around here today?” I ask the wall. There’s silence on the other side of the door. “I want to catch up on some reading,” I add, trying to sound normal but feeling anything but. Mason doesn’t answer for a bit, as if he’s considering what I’ve asked. Finally, he says:
“Stay inside the hotel.”
“Okay,” I call out. “Thanks.”
My stomach lurches again and I curl into the fetal position.
“Are you going to be sick again?” Matt whispers.
“I don’t know,” I whisper back.
“We’ll be back at seven,” Mason says through the wall. “We’ll eat together.”
Wishing Mason would stop talking about food, I gather all my strength to answer, “Okay, sounds good.” My stomach lurches again.
“Want to go to the bathroom?” Matt says quietly.
“I don’t want to move,” I whisper. Matt smiles weakly and brushes a piece of hair off my forehead.
“Then don’t.”
I gasp awake, heart pounding, eyes wide. Matt’s still here, next to me on the bed. He’s on his back now, staring up at the ceiling. I watch as he turns toward me, concerned.
“Bad dream?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, because whatever ripped me from slumber is already out of reach. Without moving to know for sure, I can tell that my body is on the mend. I smack my lips and deeply inhale and exhale.
“So… I called you last night?” I say.
Matt rolls to his side again, facing me, smirking. “You drunk texted me.”
“What did it say?” I ask self-consciously.