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Chapter 8
Mysti May
10:59 AM SATURDAY
We’re quite the fucked-up group right now. Anyone who walked in on this scene would lose their fucking minds. Which begs the question—why aren’t we freaking the fuck out?
The tiger is still licking my hand like he’s a goddamn house cat.
My fiancé, Norbert, is nowhere to be found.
We’re five hundred miles away from where we’re supposed to be.
We’re definitely not getting our room deposit back—if we paid one.
All four of us look like we’ve been rode hard and put up wet. We probably were, now that I think about it.
So why aren’t we freaking out?
Oh, yeah.
We’ve been here before, that’s why.
But this,thisis my worst nightmare.
I promised Norbert—hell, I promisedmyself—that I wouldn’t fall back on old habits.
My Miss America crown is tarnished enough as it is. It’s time to sound the alarm.
The room has been torn to shreds.
At our feet, someone has strewn pillow feathers across the floor like rose petals. All around us, angry red streaks of nail polish and lipstick cover the walls. Above our heads, the chandelier swings back and forth, hanging on to the ceiling by a single nail.
Before I can tell my friends to duck, the chandelier comes crashing down, bouncing off the nightstand, narrowly missing our beds, and landing on the floor between us, taking the alarm clock with it.
Sammi and Percy jump back just in time, shrieking in surprise.
The tiger instinctively comes to our rescue, leaping from the bed and landing on the fallen home accessory with a mighty growl. He bites the crystals and spits them out again, swiping them away with his paw.
I hope he has tiger food in here somewhere, because I do not want to be a part of his hotel sampler platter.
Becky seems to be thinking the same thing. “The tiger looks hungry,” she says. “Should we maybe get him out of here?”
Before we have time to discuss our options, the cord from the alarm clock throws sparks from its socket and catches fire.
I grab the tiger by the leash and head out the door.
Becky, Percy, and Sammi follow.
We make a beeline for the emergency exit, where the fire extinguisher beckons us from its glass case next to the door. I grab the little red hammer on top and take a swing.
“I’ve always wanted to do this!” I gush as I smash through the window and reach inside.
I try to hand the tiger over to Becky so I can take the fire extinguisher back to the room, but she shakes her head no.
“You keep him. He likes you best.”
I give Becky the fire extinguisher instead, and she takes off running down the hall. We hear a whooshing sound, and then silence. When Becky returns, she’s covered in white suds, but she looks relieved.
