Forget Green Gables

What the Actual..., Pt. 2

 I do not have to call Rebecca. Rebecca is sitting at my desk reading a book when I wake, groggy and disoriented from a rising fever and Nyquil haze.

"Hi," I croak out.

"Hi," Rebecca says. "Need anything?"

I guzzle water first, desperately attempting to get my voice to cooperate. "Can you explain?"

Rebecca begins to cry. "No. I can't. Something happened..." she trailed off.

"And you just kiss your best friend's boyfriend?"

"I didn't want to kiss him."

"Then why did you?"

The silence hangs as thick as spoiled milk left in the car on an August day. "I'm sorry, Cheyanne." She stands and pulls a tupperware container from a plastic bag."My mom sent this. She hopes you feel better, too." Rebecca sets the Tupperware full of chicken noodle soup on my desk with a spoon and walks out of my room. Her exit is silent, eerily opposite Jamie's.

I try to sit up again, but cannot. Tears slip out of my eyes, and I do not know if they are tears of frustration, tears of sadness, or tears of fever. I take a couple more pills and fall back to sleep, not caring if I overlap the meds too closely and give myself something even worse.