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11
AT FIRST BLUSH
JUNE, AGE 12
A fever claims me.
I wake up on Christmas Eve, curled into my bedcovers, trembling with chills. It feels like I’m in the water again, fighting for air, desperate for warmth. Shaking, flailing, sinking…
Petrified.
A phlegmy cough rattles my lungs as I roll onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest and burrowing deeper into my quilted blanket. Sunlight pours into the room, alerting me it’s daytime, but it hardly feels like I’ve slept.
What time is it? Is everyone opening presents without me?
My eyes feel heavy. They narrow against the daylight, too weak to absorb the happy sunshine. I try to call out for my mom but my voice is too small. Only a little squeak breaks through, and I start coughing again.
I’m cold. So cold.
The mattress shifts beside my shivering body, and I feel him looming over me before he speaks. He’s warm. He’s perfect.
He’s my everything.
A hand reaches out, gathering my sweat-soaked hair and letting it drop against the pillow. His breath flutters into my ear, followed by my favorite word in the whole world: “Junebug.”
I inhale a shuddering breath, holding back another cough. “I’m sick, Brant. I’m really sick.”
“I know.”
“I need medicine.”
Brant’s fingers interlace with mine, and he tugs me until I roll over onto my back. Two earthy orbs stare down at me. He has eyes like soil and grasslands, and they make me want to run and play in open fields.
But not today… I’m too sick.
“I want to show you something,” Brant says, his dark-brown waves of hair falling over his eyes. He sweeps it back with a smile. “Are you ready?”
“I–I don’t think so.” My mouth feels dry, like I’m choking on a mouthful of cotton balls. I blink through my fevered fog and stare at the little dark freckle that dots the underside of his bottom lip. It stretches as his smile grows. “I might need a doctor. My teeth are all chattery.”
“I know what will help. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” Curiosity pulls my heap of weakened, sweaty limbs from the comfort of my bed. Brant wraps an arm around me, hoisting me to unstable feet. “Is it far?”
“Not too far. Just over the rainbow.”
I squeeze his bicep for leverage. “Huh?”
“Come on.”
There’s a dull pulsing in my temple, pounding in time with my heartbeat. I hold on to Brant’s arm with both hands as a coughing fit has me doubling over. “I think I have the flu, Brant. Or mono.”
“It’s pneumonia. You’ll be okay.”
“Pneumonia? My gramps died from pneumonia,” I tell him, panic causing my head to throb harder.
Brant keeps me upright, smelling like Ivory soap and spearmint chewing gum. Sometimes those scents mingle with fresh herbs, as he’s always cooking in the kitchen. Basil, thyme, sage. Comfort smells. He glances down at me, his dimples so striking against his strong jawline. “But you won’t,” he says. “Now, open your eyes.”
“My eyes are already…” My words trail off when a giant castle appears before me, tall and proud, made of pink bricks and lemon drops. It stands amid dancing clouds and rainbow stars. I gasp. “Where are we?”
