“FRIDAY, FRIDAY, FRIDAY!” KHLOE SANG, doing a little dance in our room.
I laughed. “This is the most energy you’ve ever had before our first class.”
Khloe was brimming with energy this morning, and I was exhausted. It didn’t feel like the normal worked-too-hard tiredness. My muscles hurt, and all I wanted to do was go back to sleep. But I hadn’t finished my usual cup of morning green tea, and I was probably sore from the intense lessons Mr. Conner had put my team through all week.
“That, my dear best friend, is because it is Friday. Otherwise known as the last day of school in a week.” Khloe’s reflection in her makeup mirror smiled at me. She put on a brown-and-black feather earring. “I have more.”
I stepped into black peep-toe ballet flats. “Please. Continue.”
“Also, Friday is known as the day before the weekend starts. And finally, for two lucky girls in this very room, this particular Friday is date night!”
I smiled. “Indeed! Friday is the greatest day of the week per your examples.”
Khloe put on her other earring and stood. “Why, thank you, LT.”
“Did you and Zack decide plans yet?” I asked, walking into the bathroom. I grabbed two Tylenol and came out, then sat back on my bed. Khloe looked at the pills in my hand.
Her happy expression disappeared. “What’s wrong? You okay?”
“Oh, yeah!” I said hurriedly. “I’m totally fine. My muscles are just a little sore. Riding was intense this week.”
Khloe’s mouth and eyes relaxed. “Okay, whew. I thought you’d hurt yourself or something.” She stood in front of the mirror, smoothing her black V-neck with ruffled sleeves and adjusting the pink belt on her jeans.
“No, not at all. I’ll be completely fine once I take these.” I tossed the pills into my mouth and washed them down with tea. I finished what was in my cup and waited for the caffeine to kick in.
“I understand the soreness,” Khloe said. “The back of my calves are, like, I hate you! right now. Mr. Conner keeps saying ‘schooling show,’ but he’s making us practice as if we’re going to regionals or something.”
“I’m complaining now,” I said, trading places with Khloe to stand in front of the mirror, “but I’m relieved the workouts are so intense. The last thing I want is to be unprepared.”
I checked my reflection in the mirror. I wore a pair of Khloe’s whiskered jeans with one of my favorite shirts—a sky-blue cotton tee with a white heart in the center. I’d accessorized with thin silver hoop earrings and my beryl birthstone necklace.
Khloe put her bag over her shoulder. “With Mr. Conner as your coach, the last thing you’ll ever be is ‘unprepared.’ Trust me.”
I grabbed my own bag. It felt a lot heavier than I remembered when I packed it last night. You need to hit the gym and start lifting weights, I told myself. Together, Khloe and I left Hawthorne for English class.
• • •
Despite my excitement about tonight with Drew, the day dragged.
And dragged.
My backpack seemed to get heavier and heavier after each class. No shock, since teachers always loaded us down with homework for the weekend, but I had to keep putting it down and picking it back up.
The Tylenol never kicked in, and I made a big effort to keep up with my friends as we went from class to class. But any time I had a class alone, I walked so slow, I was almost late.
I downed two Diet Cokes at lunch but didn’t feel any more awake than I had this morning. Plus, the soda was the only “lunch” I had. Nothing sounded good. Not even the tomato cheddar soup that I’d usually almost run people over to get.
Khloe and Lexa had asked, repeatedly, if I felt okay during lunch. I’d said I wasn’t hungry and had grabbed a bag of chips between classes. They’d seemed to sort of accept my answer and then had gotten distracted talking about the e-mail Mr. Conner had sent, canceling all intermediate and advanced riding lessons for the afternoon. I wanted to be upset about the loss of a practice session, but I couldn’t. Getting through a lesson didn’t seem possible with my stomach churning and waves of nausea hitting me at random intervals.
Even now, walking back to Hawthorne after my last class of the day, I didn’t want to admit it out loud. If I said it, it could come true. I could say it in my head, though.
I think I’m sick.
But if I ignored how I felt, took more Tylenol, and drank white tea—which was packed with antioxidants—I’d feel better before I even got truly sick.
“There,” I said, closing my door behind me. “That’s a plan. No need to panic.”
Saying it aloud didn’t stop my nerves. I couldn’t get sick! Any other time—fine. But not now. Not when I needed every day in the arena to practice with Whisper before the show. Not when I needed to be attending every gym class and keeping myself in shape for the schooling show.
I dropped my backpack by my desk and went into the bathroom. With one eye closed, I peeked at my face in the mirror.
Uh-oh.
My fair cheeks were flushed a light pink. I touched my forehead. Warm. Not hot, though. If Khloe asked about my cheeks, I could tell her I’d gotten carried away with blush. I changed out of my school clothes into comfort clothes—an old sweatshirt, tank top, and lounge pants.
I made myself a cup of white pear tea in the common room and downed it. I found the bottle of multivitamins that Mom had sent (and I’d yet to open) in the bathroom cabinet. I took one and two more Tylenol. Hopefully, the vitamins and tea would stop whatever I was getting before it really started. I’d even call it an early night with Drew to get to bed and, fingers crossed, wake up feeling perfect.