Page 66 of Play Nice

“But just in case,” he says, tilting my face so he can look at me. “I want to make sure you’re not concussed.”

“Is that it? Or do you want to look deep into my eyes because you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Both,” he says. “How’s your vision? Blurry? Any double vision? Shadows? Squiggles?”

“What? No,” I say, defensive.

“All right,” he says. “Okay.”

He helps me up and back into bed. He props a pillow behind me.

“I have a queen bed,” he says. “Just throwing that out there. It’s a queen in my mom’s basement, but it’s a queen.”

“Will Dawn judge me?” I ask, though I’m not sure I care. I’d take her judgment for somewhere else to sleep. “I like your mom. I don’t want to scandalize her.”

“Nah, she’s cool,” he says.

I get up and start to get dressed. “Let’s go.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now,” I say, tossing him his shirt. “Take me to your queen.”

—

We wake up to his obnoxious alarm. He tells me I can stay in bed, and I take him up on his offer. I go back to sleep.

My phone wakes me up again sometime later. My group chat with Veronica, Hannah, Emma, Samantha, Kiera, and Kaleigh. Kaleigh just announced her partnership with SLIP, a loungewear brand. I congratulate her in emojis. I can’t be bothered with words.

Veronica hits me and Hannah on the side, in our more exclusive group chat. This is going to be a DISASTER! They sent me a sleep set once and it literally fell apart in the wash. Like literally dissolved.

It’s sweatshop pajamas, Hannah replies.

I almost ask them how much they think she got paid, but then I realize I don’t care and that I have a terrible headache.

I have missed texts from Daphne and Leda on our sister thread. Daphne sent us a picture of the sun rising over the Hudson Valley. Leda with the sunrise over Boston. The sun is already up here; I have nothing to contribute.

They wouldn’t want a picture of the sun rising over Edgewood Drive anyway. No matter how pretty.

I yawn and sit up, look around the room. Austin’s room. It was dark and late last night, and he was with me, so I couldn’t snoop.

Brave of him to leave me here alone.

Light pours in through the egress window. He has no curtains.

His sheets are plaid. Teenage boy sheets.

His furniture appears to be Ikea. He has a bookshelf with books on it, a good sign.

Framed artwork, also promising. If I found out a man with posters taped to his wall was giving me multiple orgasms, I might have gone into crisis.

I go through his drawers but find nothing offensive. His clothes are clean and folded. His pay stubs are sad but organized.

His laptop is password protected.

Once I’ve exhausted my search, I realize there’s nothing to do but leave. Go back to the house.

I worry I’ll run into Dawn on my way out and, lovely as she is, I don’t feel like making small talk, not with this lump of dread in my throat and pounding inside my skull.