Fallout by Ellen Hopkins Page B

well cared for.
    Do I feel good about that?

THE QUESTION NAGS
    The rest of the afternoon.
Through manicure.
Pedicure.
    (And just who wants a job
    dealing with scaly feet?)
Trousseau shopping.
Christmas shopping.
    (And why does Aunt Cora
    think Liam wants pj’s?)
Makeup shopping.
Window shopping.
    (And by now I’m getting
    totally sick of shopping.)
Stuffing the car with
packages. Gassing up.
    (And I majorly wish I had
    an ibuprofen in my purse.)
Driving the eighty
miles to Austin.
    (And now the nagging
    question really gets loud.)
Am I happy that Liam will
care well for Aunt Cora?
    (And will she be happy when
    Bryce is taking care of me?)

STUPID FANTASY, I KNOW
    But at least Bryce is a real guy, not
    a vampire or something. Fantasy
    minus the fangs. Sounds good
    to me, especially if there ever
    is a baby involved in this story.
    Meanwhile, we have arrived
    at the hotel, and it is not
    what you might call a dive.
    “Wow. Pretty fancy. How can
    we afford to stay here?”
Aunt Cora rattles her purse.
Credit card, remember?
Whatever my heart desires ,
remember? I wanted this to
be a memorable experience.
    The Mansion at Judges’ Hill
    is quite impressive, with an
    obvious history. Later I’ll find
    out what it is. Right now, I just
    want to check in and find ibuprofen.

I GET MY OWN ROOM
    It isn’t huge, but it is beautiful,
    all done up in restored antiques.
    I get a couple of ibuprofens
    from Aunt Cora, go looking
    for something to wash them
    down with. Score! Minibar.
    Pricey water, soda, and yes,
    liquor. Very pricey liquor.
    But hey, the credit card
    is buying, right? Three-dollar
    Coke. Six-dollar miniature bottle
    of Dewar’s. Never tried scotch
    before. Ugh. Not great. But too
    late to turn back now. Nine
    dollars’ worth of refreshment
    later, I lie down on the bed.
    The headache fades and I close
    my eyes to rest up before dinner.

NEXT THING I KNOW
    A thumping brings me around.
    No, not thumping. Knocking. Loudly.
    On the door. I sit up, too quickly.
    My head feels like a merry-go-round,
    and I think maybe I have to throw up.
    “Who is it? Hang on, I’m coming.”
It’s me. Aunt Cora, of course.
Are you about ready? Hurry up.
I’ll wait for you in the lobby.
    Ready? What? I glance at the clock.
    Almost five. How long did I sleep?
    Bathroom. Quick. To throw up or not
    to throw up? I give it the old college
    try. Nothing. Not even a dry heave.
    Guess I’m okay. No time for a shower,
    I splash my face. Makeup? No time.
    I make time for mouthwash, stay
    in my rumpled clothes. Not trying
    to impress anyone, anyway, right?
    Room key in my pocket. Out the door.
    Twenty-four hours, it will all be over.

THANKS TO ME
    Aunt Cora and I get to the church
ten minutes late. Everyone else
is already there, waiting. Pacing.
    Talk about nerves! Liam looks
green, although he’s trying to
hide it. He and the preacher
    stand off to one side. Aunt
Cora goes to join them. Let
the rehearsal begin! The wedding
    party gathers as the minister starts
a blessing. I bow my head, close
my eyes. Someone taps my shoulder.
    Micah! Why didn’t I make time for
makeup? Suddenly, midst long-
winded prayer, my breathing goes
shallow and my hands tingle.
I haven’t done this in weeks.
Micah sees. Is it me? he whispers.
    I need air. How do I get out
of here? But just as my feet start
to move, the amen stops them.
    I suck in oxygen, concentrate
on a mental picture of Bryce so
Micah’s cool steel eyes don’t
pierce so hard. I can do this.
Okay, everyone , says the pastor.
Let’s get this over with. I’m hungry.
    A half hour later, we’re all pretty
sure of our roles for tomorrow.
Through the entire instruction,
    Micah managed to either be
very close to me or to let
me know most definitely that
    he was watching me. If I didn’t
know better, I’d say he was hitting
on me. Impossible. No makeup.

BUT, MAKEUP OR NO
    Micah finds a way to sit next to me
    at dinner. His leg rests against mine,
    and despite willing myself to think Bryce