“Yeah, it’s really not a big deal,” I say, even though it absolutely feels like it is. “Are you gonna get up?”
“Maybe,” she mumbles.
I hold out a hand to her, shaking it until she eventually takes it, and I help her to her feet. It takes her a minute to get used to being upright again before we start to walk in the direction of my room.
The second we’re inside she’s rushing to the bathroom. I don’t get to process much before I’m behind her as she kneels by the toilet bowl, gagging and throwing up into it. I take a breath,trying to remember that this is about her, and I gather the hair that’s falling into her face and push it behind her ears.
I use one hand to rub smooth circles on her back and the other to hold her hair back out of her face. “Are you okay?” I ask softly.
As if she’s just registered where she is, her pale face turns to me and she yells, “Oh my God! You’re still in here? Get out!”
“Gladly,” I mutter, stepping back from her and slipping out of the bathroom.
When I’m alone again, I don’t know what to do with myself. I know I need to shower. To get clean. But Scarlett’s probably going to be occupying the bathroom for a while. I crack open the window instead, desperate to get some air on my skin.
“Evan?”
I walk toward the bathroom door at the sound of Scarlett’s voice. “Yeah?”
“Do you have a spare shirt or something? My dress is ruined,” she says weakly.
I nod, even though she can’t see me, and I go to look through the clothes I packed, picking up the first clean shirt I can find. I knock on the door, and she opens it just enough to grab the shirt from my hand and shut it again.
“You’re welcome,” I shout back, but all I hear in response is the sound of the shower running. I pace the room again, counting each step as I go. What am I going to do when she leaves? Sleep? I don’t think I can anymore.
This is what I wanted, right? The real college experience. It seems like I’m getting it.
I make myself useful while she showers and I boil the small kettle in the room, sifting through the packets of tea. I know she must like herbal tea with how much she drinks in class, but I’m not sure what flavor she likes. I get them all out anyway, lying them beside a mug.
The door creaks and I turn to find it open only a couple centimeters. “Scarlett . . . ?”
“I swear to God, if you laugh at me, Branson, I’m going to pull you apart limb from limb,” she threatens from behind the door.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She pushes the door open a little more until she steps through with her dress in one hand and her other hand clutching her stomach. It’s only when she drops her hand that I realize which shirt I gave her.
I press my lips together as I read the words ‘Suck My Pianist’ printed across the white T-shirt. The shirt falls halfway down her thighs, her dark hair slightly damp and slicked behind her ears. I want to take a picture of her. Memorize this sight in front of me. Burn it behind my eyelids.
Scarlett tugs at the hem of the shirt. “Why do you even own this?”
I smile. “Miles got it me for Christmas last year.”
“Should’ve figured,” she mutters.
I nod toward the dresser by the bed. “There’s tea and water there. You should have some,” I say, and she nods, walking over to it. She pours herself a mug of tea carefully and sits on the edge of my bed. I know this is a bad idea—having her in my room, sitting on my bed in nothing but her underwear and my shirt—but I also want this moment to last forever.
Scarlett brings the steaming mug to her nose, sniffing a few times. “What flavor is this?” she asks, still smelling it.
“Chamomile and honey.”
Her eyes narrow and she pins me with a look. “You brought your own teabags here?”
I shrug. “Yeah, of course I did.”
“Of course you did,” she mutters, checking the label that hangs off the teabag. She looks at the label, then at me. Back to the label. Back to me. “This is from The Grand Brew.”
“It is.”
