Dead River - By Cyn Balog Page 0,38

“You weren’t limping yesterday. The paramedics—”

At first I’m not really sure how it happened. Then I remember trying to escape Jack, and him nearly putting his hand on my ankle. I shiver. “Um, I twisted my ankle a little this morning,” I say. “But I’ll just put an ice pack on it for a few minutes. It’ll be okay.”

“Well, Pleasant Pond Mountain isn’t too tough of a hike. It’s only eight miles.” He reaches down and touches it. “That hurt?”

“Ouch!”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. “You are staying home. I’ll stay with you.”

“Give me a break. Go hiking.”

“I can’t leave you here alone. What if you need something?”

“I’m not a quadriplegic.” I give him a teasing look. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’d rather spend today nursing your clumsy oaf of a girlfriend.”

He laughs. “Well, okay. But the good news is, you have a big-screen TV to keep you company, and I hear that tonight the Outfitters will be playing The River Wild out on the terrace. That’s fun, right?”

“Totally,” I say, forcing myself to smile.

Angela is standing in the cabin’s foyer, in jeans and hiking boots, stuffing granola bars into her backpack. “I was just coming— Oh!” she gasps when she sees me. “Honey Bunches, you okay?”

I collapse into the nearest chair. “It’s just a little sprain. It should be fine tomorrow.”

“But, honey, we should go home, then, right?” She looks at Justin, then back at me. “I mean, this can’t be any fun for you, can it?”

“No,” I say. “All you’ve done for months is talk about this trip. And I am having a good time. Really. When you guys get back, we’ll all watch the movie together. It’ll be fun.” They’re both staring at me like I have bugs crawling out of my nose, so I say, “Where’s Hugo?”

Angela motions to the bathroom. “Remember that liter of Absolut Justin brought?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, now it’s a quarter of a liter. He’s been puking all morning. And there’s no water in that bathroom. He’ll be cleaning it up, not me.” She groans, then raises her voice: “Did you hear me, Hugo? You. Are. Cleaning. It. Up!”

“Oh.” For the first time, I hear noises coming from the downstairs bathroom. I’m kind of glad he took the Absolut off our hands, because I’m not in the mood to celebrate, and anyway, I do not need the help of anything that might further loosen my grasp on reality. “So I guess it’s just you two?”

Justin nods. “You sure you’re going to be—”

“Just go,” I command, waving them away. “Have fun.”

He gives me a peck on the top of the head, and they gather up their backpacks and head out. I smile after them until the guilt dims the brightness in my face. I sit there for a moment, massaging my ankle. It honestly doesn’t feel as bad as I might have made it out to be. And that’s a good thing. Because I have a feeling that for what I’m planning, I’m going to need it.

Chapter Fourteen

Ten minutes later, Hugo saunters out of the downstairs bathroom, scratching his backside. He looks pretty okay for someone who just spent hours worshipping at the porcelain shrine. He has a rolled-up Sports Illustrated and is whistling.

I expect to smell something disgusting coming from the open door, but I can’t make anything out. “Did you clean in there?” I ask.

He jumps sky high, like a cartoon character that has stuck its finger in an electric socket. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I don’t answer. “You can open a window, at least. And there’s some 409 under the kitchen sink.” I march over to the bathroom to inspect it, knowing it’ll be gross. I can already tell from the way Hugo threw his McDonald’s hamburger wrappers all over Monster that he isn’t the cleanest person on earth. Holding my breath, I stand in the doorway and take the quickest of peeks. Then I open my eyes wide.

It’s spotless.

I turn to him. He’s still fanning himself with the rolled-up magazine from the shock of seeing me. “What?” he says.

“You weren’t sick?”

“Yeah, I was. Of course I was. Why would I lie about that?”

“I don’t know. All I know is, this bathroom is sparkly clean, and you don’t strike me as the domestic type. Plus, you didn’t have any cleaning supplies, dirty paper towels—”

“Okay, Sherlock, you got me,” he sneers. “I just didn’t want to go on a crummy hike today. What about you? Why