Page 85 of Fall Fake-Out

And I hate to admit, but I like that a lot.

Ari

I know something is wrong the second I look down.

Like, very wrong.

The toilet water is red. Not a little. Not questionable. Not maybe it’s my time of the month, or maybe the lighting is weird.

Red.

Now, I’m not one to be dramatic, but a full-body cold panic hits me so fast I have to steady myself against the bathroom wall.

“Oh no,” I say it out loud to myself in a gas station bathroom between Burlington and Autumn Ridge. And I don’t even care.

I whip out my phone and take a picture as any normal human in the twenty-first century would do. There needs to be proof so that when I die, people can say, ‘She knew it was bad. She took a picture.’ Then I flush. It looks more dramatic now, swirling around like a crime scene.

I’m Googling before the toilet even stops.

What does blood in stool mean?

The results load.

Serious things. Too many serious things. Words I don’t like. Words I don’t understand but immediately assume apply to me.

It’s clear that I’m dying. So I text my emergency contact, or who would be my emergency contact if we weren’t faking everything.

Ari

There’s a problem, and I need to go to Urgent Care. Now.

Something is VERY wrong with me.

His reply is instant.

Wade

Who is this?

Ari

Wade Byron Stevenson! Pull your truck around this instant. I’ll meet you outside in one minute.

Wade

Are you dying or a hypochondriac?

Ari

Potentially both.

Wade

I’d kinda like to know what’s going on before I commit to rushing you to the hospital.

Ari

Are you my fake boyfriend or not?