They both look at me, and I Camdenk first. I start laughing. That gives them permission to finally laugh too.
“Give me your phone,” Gianna says. “We should take pictures to keep track of your swelling.”
“Good idea,” Mara says to her.
I hand over my phone and don’t smile as she takes pictures.
Gianna hands my phone back and looks down at hers. “My brother is making sure you’re alright.”
“Did you tell him?” I ask, horrified that she did.
She shakes her head, texting him back. “No, but he saw me freak out this morning. The least I can do is tell him you’re fine.”
I look at her.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”
“Thanks.”
I wake up at four in the afternoon. The apartment is quiet. Mara is gone. Gianna’s bedroom door is cracked. I can hear the click of her trackpad.
I get up and go to the bathroom. I’m afraid to look in the mirror, but I do anyway. My face is the same. It’s still swollen.
The next few days are going to be absolutely miserable.
On Sunday, I wake up and can’t open my eyes. They’re glued shut. I try to open my mouth, and it’s the same thing, except I accidentally peel them open.What the hell.I touch my face. I think it might be even more swollen today. I force my eyes to open and then I walk into the bathroom and take a hot shower. I let the water pitter patter against my face, and it feels so nice and relieving. I close my eyes and hate myself for thinking about Benson Reeve. The kiss was reckless. We were both drunk. I doubt it meant anything. I take my medicine and climb into bed. Gianna checks on me a few times, reminding me that she had Sunday plans. I tell her I’ll be fine.
At one, I text my brother. Normally, I would call or FaceTime, but my face is horrendous.
Me:What are you doing?Bear:Tyr took me to a Tigers game.
I stare at the text and don’t know what to feel.
Me:Did you have fun?Bear:It was the Tigers and the Twins. The Twins won.
He sends me an image of the stadium, and then an image of him, Tyr, and my mom. I stare at their smiling faces, feeling sick to my stomach.
Bear:He bought me two hats.Me:Nice.Bear:One of them is for you.Me:Tell him I said thank you.Me:Love you
He doesn’t reply.
It’s night when I take the third steroid, and the swelling hasn’t gone down. Today is officially worse than yesterday. I sent emails to my professors for my Monday classes, along with an image of my face, to ask for the day off. Most reply that it’s okay to take the day, and I can borrow someone’s notes. I know I won’t need to because I’m already ahead.
Before I go to sleep, I stare in the mirror at my red, puffy face. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, so I’m going to hide until it’s fully gone, and according to Google, it could take a few days up to a week.
Chapter 13
Benson
Sundaynight,I’matmy desk with my Stats notebook open, and I have done four problems in two hours. My phone is face down. I’ve flipped it over three times in the last hour. Each flip has gotten me the same lock screen, which is a photo from a tailgate last fall that has, until tonight, not seemed boring.
I pick the phone up and look at Saturday’s text messages from Gianna. I can’t text her again without being obvious, so I rely on the fact that her last text message said that Lucy is okay, and I put it face down again.
Monday at the rink, Coach is in the navy quarter-zip and a worse mood than usual. We do edges. We do a Camdenkout drill. We run the rush three times. The third time, I take a half-second too long reading Stanley’s drop pass. Coach blows thewhistle. He doesn’t say anything. He just blows it and lets me skate over.
“Reeve.”
“Coach.”
