Page 19 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

I can’t help but smile. I love how nervous she is to show me her inner sanctum. “What? Am I the first boy you’ve ever had in your room?”

She fidgets again. “You’re the first boy I’ve ever brought home to meet my family.”

I’m sincerely not sure whether she is kidding. I’m flattered and curious why this would be the case, but I hardly have time to react as she opens the door.

I’m hit full in the face by a world of hot pink. The reference to Legally Blonde is obvious, but it also adds in some Clarissa Explains It All with the posters of boy bands and teen heartthrobs. Cai hadn’t been kidding about the room being a time capsule.

I walk around looking at everything. There are Polaroids of kids laughing, with braces-filled mouths and crunchy, gelled hair. A Magic 8-Ball sits next to a hamburger phone. A Tiger Beat picture of Joshua Jackson is clipped to her mirror with butterfly clips. An antique-looking jewelry box lay open with some braided friendship bracelets and a mood ring.

Then I see it: tucked on the bottom shelf, a Nintendo 64, and Zelda: Ocarina of Time Master Quest! I had never seen this game in real life, and the N64 looks barely touched. This game and console, in mint condition, are probably worth a fortune. Zelda is one of my favorite franchises, and this is one of the few I haven’t played. It’s hard to find nowadays, and I know only a few who ever played it and none who own it.

I can’t help myself; I reach for it instinctively. “You have a Nintendo 64?” My voice cracks as I’m unable to keep my excitement under wraps.

Cai glances over disinterestedly, but arches an eyebrow quizzically. “Oh yeah, I got it as a gift like a million years ago. I may have used it twice. I probably should’ve gotten rid of it. I’d give it to one of my nieces or nephews, but I don’t want it to turn them into one of those people.”

I bite my tongue to keep myself from reacting. I’m a little hurt by her ignorance and sweeping generalizations. This game, in particular, has puzzle elements and lore that she might actually have enjoyed if she had given it a shot. “You know not everyone who likes video games turns out to be a loser.”

She isn’t looking at me as she responds, opting to get the sheets on the beds, but I can tell she’s scoffing as she says, “Could’ve fooled me!”

“If you’re referring to your boyfriend, he can’t be that much of a loser; he got you chasing him.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think, and she spins towards me, opening her mouth as if to say something. Then she stops, swallows hard, and like a gut punch, I notice her eyes start to moisten with fresh tears.

I feel like such a shit. I reach out to apologize, but she pulls away, not only physically but emotionally. That barrier I’ve been breaking down is back up.

She snaps, “I have to run to the bathroom.”

“Cai, I’m an asshole; I shouldn’t have…” but she puts up a hand to silence me as she runs out of the room. Leaving me alone in her childhood sanctuary. I’m just another ass who made her cry.

Rule #9

IN CASE OF TEARS, BLAME ALLERGIES

CAI

I was angry, mostly at myself. Sonny isn’t wrong; Trevor might be a dick, but what does that make me? The girl who spent her savings to chase him to Puerto Rico with an incoming hurricane, no less. I am the loser who still feels a sick jolt of panic at the thought of losing him forever.

My brain knows better; it’s clear how pathetic it all is. My emotions? Not so much. They are throwing a full-on tantrum, complete with tears and a dramatic exit.

I splash cold water on my face, but when I look in the mirror, my eyes are still puffy and red-rimmed. Great. I can’t even cry like a mysterious, tragic heroine. I just look like the same moody middle child who hid in this same bathroom to cry when I was teased about my weight or nerdy t-shirt.

There’s a light tap at the door.

“Cai?” Sonny’s voice is low and cautious. “You okay in there?”

I know I have to face Sonny, so I might as well get it over with. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second and then open the door.

He stands there looking genuinely apologetic, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “I’m really sorry,” he adds. “I shouldn’t have pushed like that.”

“It’s fine,” I grumble, unconvincingly. “I’m just … tired. And hungry. And apparently on the world’s longest emotional roller coaster.”

Sonny is nodding, his eyes soft and searching my face. “Yeah, and then this jerk comes along and decides to dump a whole bag of salt in the wound.” He gives me a small crooked smile. “For the record, I don’t think you’re pathetic. I think you’re loyal. Maybe a little too loyal, but that’s not the worst thing in the world.”

I let out a short, watery laugh and glance back at my reflection. “Tell that to my eyes. It looks like I lost a fight with a beehive.”

Sonny perked up, a mischievous spark lighting up his expression. “Actually… I might be able to help with that.” Before I can protest, he gently grabs my hand and tugs me back toward my room. “Come on. Doctor’s orders.”

I let him pull me along, too drained to resist. “You have a medical degree I don’t know about?”

“Close enough. I once survived crunch time on three hours of sleep a night for two weeks.” He digs into his backpack and triumphantly holds up a small bottle. “Victory eye drops. Clears redness in minutes. Trust me, I’ve tested this in the trenches of deadline hell. Don’t worry, it’s a new bottle. Never opened.”