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It feels like it takes hours. By the time I make it to beneath my own window, I’m exhausted. The window is just as I left it, slightly lifted from the sill, but not so wide that Sam would be woken by the breeze.
I yowl hopefully. Sam, predictably, hears nothing.
Closing my eyes against the pain, I force the transformation. It hurts, like my skin was still raw from shifting the first time. I push open the window and hop inside, falling onto the floor with a thump.
“Hrm,” Sam says muzzily, turning over.
“Help me,” I say, lifting my arm to touch the metal edge of his bed. “Please. The blowback. You’ve got to keep me from being loud.”
He’s staring at me with wide eyes. They only get wider when my fingers start to curl like vines. My leg starts shaking.
“It hurts,” I say, shamed by the whine in my voice.
Sam is getting up, throwing his comforter over me. Two pillows come down on either side of my head so I can’t thrash it around too badly. He’s totally awake now, looking at me with true adrenaline-pumping horror.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to get out before my tongue turns to wood.
* * *
I feel a sharp nudge on my side. I turn stiffly and blink up at Mr. Pascoli.
“Get up, Mr. Sharpe,” our hall master says. “You’re going to be late for class.”
“He’s sick,” I hear Sam say.
I am cocooned in blankets. Just moving is hard, like the air has turned semi-solid. I groan and then close my eyes again. I have never felt so worn out. I had no idea that back-to-back blowback could do this to me.
“What is he doing on the floor?” I hear Pascoli say. “Are you hungover, Mr. Sharpe?”
“I’m sick,” I slur, borrowing Sam’s excuse. My mind isn’t working fast enough to come up with one of my own. “I think I have a fever.”
“You better get down to the nurse, then. Breakfast is almost over.”
“I’ll take him,” Sam says.
“I want to see a copy of that slip, Mr. Sharpe. And you better get one. If I find out you’ve been drinking or using, I don’t care what’s going on with your family, you’re going to be off my hall. Understand?”
“Yeah.” I nod. Right now I am willing to say whatever I think will make Pascoli go away faster.
“Come on,” Sam says, picking me up under my arms and dumping me onto my bed.
I struggle to stay sitting up. My head swims. I’m not really sure how I pull on jeans, gloves, and boots, which I fumble over and finally decide not to lace.
“Maybe we should call someone,” he whispers once Pascoli is out of the room. “Mrs. Wasserman?”
I frown, trying to concentrate on his words. “What do you mean?”
“Last night you seemed way screwed-up. And today? You look pretty bad.”
“Just tired,” I say.
He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen anything like—”
“Blowback,” I say quickly, reluctant to hear his description of what it looks like. “Don’t worry about it.”
He narrows his eyes but waits for me to get up. He follows as I shuffle dazedly across campus.
“I need one more thing,” I say, “when we get to the nurse’s office.”
