knitting needles and coat hangers. The Social Policy lady didn’t say a word about it, but our health teacher, Miss Vogelvort, said she’d read it, and would pray for me.
Fee is moaning beside me. I don’t know what’s happening. She might just be having a bad dream? It started a couple of minutes ago and she’s getting really loud. Fuck. I’m afraid someone might hear. I’m gonna try to wake her up.
* * *
—
I woke Fee up to stop the moaning, but she’s confused and crying for water. I have no choice, I gotta go out there. At least the winds have kicked up and the sky’s clear of low-flyers. Poor Fee.
* * *
—
I checked the dirt road that leads away from this sketchy little neighborhood. No cars. No lights. I checked the Airstream next door. The television was still on, so it was possible the drunk dude was awake, but more likely he was passed out. I also thought of Javier’s words, “Don’t let him see.”
The Santa Anas fought back when I tried to open the shed door, and they lashed my face and bare arms as I dashed through the weeds toward Javier’s truck. There was no barrel of water in the flatbed. No half-drunk bottles. A quick search of the cab turned up nothing.
I looked over at the drunk guy’s truck. I had to check. So I ran toward it in a crouch, my eyes on the windows of the trailer—terrified the guy’d see me. I hid behind the truck and checked the flatbed. No water jugs or bottles. I ducked and flattened, moving closer to the cab to see if he’d left anything inside there. I couldn’t believe it—a small bottle of freaking Gatorade on the floor of the passenger side. So not just water, but electrolytes and sugars and whatever to make Fee feel better from all the retching, right?
The truck door hinge screeched when I tried to open it. I stopped and held my breath, afraid that drunk guy was gonna come out with a shotgun. Plus, I’m thinking, What if he knows about the bounty? What if he recognizes me from TV?
Finally, I eased the truck door open and leaned in to snatch the Gatorade. Then I saw something moving in the trailer through a crack in the broken dog door. The drunk guy? Perro? I didn’t stick around to find out. I grabbed the bottle, closed the truck door as quietly as I could and ran back to the shed. I looked out the window to see if anyone was coming out of the Airstream. No one. Nothing moved. Nothing happened. Finally, I sank down beside Fee.
She couldn’t believe what I was holding in my hand. “Gatorade?”
She snatched the bottle out of my hand, uncapped it, raised it to her lips, and gulped and swallowed, and gulped and swallowed until the bottle was empty. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she looked up at me with this face like she was gonna die. I didn’t know what was happening at first. And then it hit me. Pee? Oh my freaking God, was that pee in the Gatorade bottle?
Fee took a couple of deep breaths. She was actually surprisingly calm when she finally said, “Tequila.”
“Wha…?”
“Rory, there was freaking tequila in the Gatorade.”
I sniffed the bottle. I’d sipped from a margarita once or twice. I know what tequila smells like. Jesus. Just. Jesus.
Fee didn’t throw up, which was shocking since she’d announced she was definitely gonna hurl, and I mean, tequila. She just laid her head back down and murmured, “My mom’s gonna kill me.”
I have no idea how much tequila was in that bottle, but I think she’s passed out drunk now. Fantastic. I’m looking at Fee in the shards of moonlight streaming in from the gaps in the roof, mouth-breathing beside me. If she was already poisoned, what is alcohol gonna do? What if she’s too sick to move when Javier comes back to help us? Then what?
I’m exhausted, but too afraid to sleep. Going online and reading the news and tweets is making me crazy, yet I can’t stop myself. Fucking Pastor fucking Hanson is up in the middle of the night, tweeting out our school records and detention stats. He’s calling me a “well-known agitator.” He used that word—agitator. He’s saying that Fee is insubordinate and points to her numerous skirting offenses. She did get a lot of skirting detentions, but that’s only because she