“Easy for you to say,” Layla muttered. “I’m already freakin’. I’m majorly freakin’. I’m freaking out so hard I don’t even have a dick joke in me at that perfect setup.”
Brady’s brow pinched in concern for his twin. If Lay was out of dick jokes, we really were in trouble. Dick jokes were like her factory default setting.
The fifteen or so minutes it took to traverse Ridgemore along its main road passed swiftly. Before I was ready to confront any more upheaval of our already disturbing lives, Clyde whipped past the farewell sign again.
We held our collective breaths until the outline of the next sign popped into view. Immediately after, Layla started her quasi-hyperventilating again.
There it was, bright and indisputable beneath the afternoon sunshine: the welcome to Ridgemore sign.
Alternating between cursing vehemently, worrying silently, and Layla doing her heavy breathing, Griffin drove us through town a third time, just to be sure.
When we passed the farewell sign again, and then the welcome sign loomed within sight, he guided Clyde to the shoulder and parked. He turned off the car, threw his head against the headrest, and closed his eyes.
I watched him. His chest heaved. His lips pursed. His nostrils fluttered as he fought to calm himself. He clutched the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip even though we were stopped.
He and Hunt were the most levelheaded of the five of us. I sought out Hunt.
He’d leaned his forehead against the window, his jaw as tight as I’d ever seen it, and flicked the dangling turquoise of his earring—over and over and over again. Harder and harder, the blueberry-size turquoise swung. He must have felt my stare on him, but he didn’t turn to meet it.
When Layla began another continuous chant offuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, my fingers fumbled for the door handle. Pushed it open.Bobo jumped out. I stumbled after him. Lowered myself to my knees on the grass.
Before I realized it would happen, the chicken salad rushed up my throat. I bolted upward, staggered to a clump of bushes, and threw up behind them.
After I was sure no more was coming up, I turned. My friends were all out of the car, and along with Bobo, they looked at me with big, worried eyes.
“I’m fine, guys,” I mumbled, though I was shaking, andfinewas probably one of the very last words I should be using to describe any of us. “Can I use that toothpaste again, Lay?”
She ducked into the back seat and dug through her Mary Poppins purse. She rarely was without her bag, whereas I’d left mine at school. While she handed over the travel-size tube and a bottle of water, Brady spoke just for the five of us.
I snorted.
Whining, Bobo rubbed against my legs. I scratched behind his ears while I brushed my teeth with my finger with the other.
Griffin offered before drawing closer, waiting for me to finish brushing.
Hunt added, crossing his arms and leaning back against Clyde’s hood.
Layla asked.
He crossed his legs at the ankle. Brady reclined against the hood next to him.
Hunt said,
Layla asked.
I finished brushing, returned everything to Layla, and sank to the ground to love on Bobo, who rushed onto my lap with a relieved whimper. Griffin lowered down next to me.
Hunt said.
Layla said,
With both hands, she mimed her brain exploding, before settling onto the grass beside me and letting her legs plop out in front of her.
