Kissing Frogs - A Tropical Fairytale

The Morning After

Ohhh." A moan comes from across the room.

I open my bleary eyes as the sound comes again, accompanied by an, "I want to die."

"Are you okay?" I croak.

"I feel awful," Harp groans.

"It's called a hangover."

"I know," she says.

"You'll feel better after some water and a big breakfast." My head is throbbing. "Breakfast?" She turns green, then jumps up and runs to the bathroom. I hear the toilet flush. She comes back into the room and flops down on her bed.

"Why do people drink when you feel so terrible after?"

"Not sure," I say, rubbing my temples.

The bell rings for breakfast.

"Do we have to go?" Harp asks.

"I don't think we have a choice."

We drag ourselves out of bed and get dressed, bumping into Chrissy and Kiki on the stairwell, and they look just as bad. We run into the boys, who aren't much better. There's a fine sheen of sweat on Juan's upper lip, and all three have dark circles under their eyes. Steven and Juan mumble, "Good morning."

Travis doesn't say a word to me.

We stumble into the bohío like criminals on their way to sentencing. There are a few boxes of cereal out and some muffins. I pour myself a glass of orange juice and sit down. It's all my stomach can handle at the moment.

"What do you think is going to happen to us?" Harp says.

"We're probably getting sent home." Juan's miserable.

I'm not feeling so hot myself.

We sit in silence, nobody eating much. Mr. A isn't there. He's probably arranging our flights back to Seattle. Enrique is also absent. Most likely his parents told him to stay away for a while.

"Where's Mr. A?" Chrissy asks. At that moment he staggers in to the bohío, sweating profusely, glassy-eyed and ghastly white.

"Mr. A, are you okay?" Harp asks.

"Urk." He looks like he's going to yak then and there. "You," he points at us, "stay in compound." He clutches his stomach. "I've called Lola. Hector is taking me to the clinic." Speaking those few words costs him and he turns to flee. Cheeks bulging, he barely makes it to the bathroom beside the pool.

"He looks bad, man," Steven says, to no one in particular.

We look around at one another — pity, with a huge dash of relief, appears on everyone's faces. Poor Mr. A, but at least it looks like our punishment will be momentarily delayed. Thank God, because all I can deal with right now is lounging by the pool.

Mr. A emerges unsteadily from the washroom minutes later, on the verge of collapsing. Hector reaches his side, hands him a paper bag, and assists him to the van. Lola pulls up in her little car just as they're reversing. She rolls down her window and Mr. A does the same.

"Kenny!" she exclaims at his dreadful appearance.

"Must've been our raspados." He's too sick to muster much of a smile. "Thanks for coming to keep an eye on the kids."

"Once the doctor gives you something, you will feel better in no time," she assures him.

"How come you're not sick?" we hear him ask.