Page 52 of Passing Notes

Can you get a sub for a sub?

Frantically, I looked around for something to puke in. There was no time to get to the bathroom and I refused to vomit in my new Chanel tote—no freaking way.

There was nothing in here, not even a garbage can. I made a mental note to complain about that as I ran to the window, threw it open, and leaned out, bent at the waist over the edge. Thankfully I was on the first floor, and everything went into the bushes below.

I located a box of tissues and wiped my mouth as I turned around and sank to the floor, panting and gasping and hoping that the feeling I would toss my cookies again would pass so I could get the hell out of here and crawl into bed with a barf bowl. Or maybe just lapse into a coma on my bathmat so I could be near the toilet.

This was so dang gross.

“Are you okay?” I looked up to find Ruby, Gracie’s bestie, hovering above me, eyes lit up with concern. “We heard everything. What can I do?”

“I’m sick. I just threw up out the freaking window. I swear I’m dying.” My stomach rolled. “Oh god...”

“You must have caught that stomach virus that has been going around. You need to go home. I’ll pop next door and let Mr. Easton know. We can all go over there with his class until the office finds someone to cover you.” She gestured behind her. “We’ve done it before whenever there hasn’t been a substitute available right away.” I looked over her shoulder to find the rest of Mr. Meadows’s class staring at me.

I narrowed my eyes, letting them drift across each one of their germ-riddled faces. Which one of these little fuckers had gotten me sick? I should have known better...

“I’d help you up, but I have two AP tests tomorrow and I can’t miss them.” She reached for the huge tub of hand sanitizer on the bookshelf next to me and squirted a healthy dollop into her palm. “Marianne, come help Miss Hill up and walk her to her car, will you? You don’t have anything important happening this week. Or ever, now that I’m thinking on it. Getting good grades obviously isn’t your thing and that’s okay. I mean, we’re not all cut out to be honor students, right?” If I wasn’t feeling like such shit, I would have laughed.

Given the way she was speaking to Marianne, Ruby was clearly not as clueless as Gracie thought she was.

“Yuck. Ugh, fine.” Marianne wasn’t happy about it, but she immediately came over to do as Ruby asked and reached a hand down to me.

I took it, my curiosity piqued at how this was playing out, but I put a pin in it to contemplate later. Right now, I had to concentrate on not accidentally giving her payback for the way she’s been treating Gracie by way of spewing what I’d had for breakfast all over the front of her pretty pink sweater.

“Let’s go next door, y’all,” Ruby directed the rest of the kids.

“Thanks,” I told her as I let Marianne take my arm. I was wobbly on my feet but clearheaded. I’d be okay to drive.

“Not a problem. Get some rest.”

Marianne scuttled off the second I unlocked my car door. I made it home in time to cut the engine, flail my way out of my car, and throw up in my recycling bin.

Without bothering to click the garage door closed, I stumbled into the kitchen through the interior entrance and found my way to my living room floor. I managed to yank the throw blanket from the arm of the sofa and curled into the fetal position by the edge of the fireplace.

Sleep was all I could think about. A little nap was all I needed, then I’d be fine. Right? Please be right...

I kicked off my pumps and tucked my knees tight to my chest with a moan.

I was not fine. I was the opposite of fine.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, followed by a crash of lightning and I flinched. When it rained, it poured—literally. But I was too sick to be scared of the storm so I stayed where I was.

Tears filled my eyes as another stomach cramp sent me spiraling. I didn’t want to move. In fact, I wondered if I could even get up if I wanted to. Oh well. My floors were wood and would be easier to clean than carpet when this was all over.

I should have a barf bowl in every room, I decided as I groaned into the floor and tried to slow my breathing. Why did I only think of shit like this when it was too late to do anything about it?

I hadn’t been this sick in years and I was pretty sure I’d gotten vomit in my hair when I hurled into my recycling bin. A quick sniff told me I had, and that it was on my shirt too.

Whatever. At least I was home where I could cry in my living room and feel sorry for myself in peace. I was alone with no one around to care if I smelled like puke.

How sad was I?

I wiped my hair as best I could with the throw blanket then tossed it into the fireplace. No way was I doing that kind of laundry.

“Clara, baby, where are you?”

Oh.