Imagine Me (Shatter Me #6) - Tahereh Mafi Page 0,24
night.”
“What the hell?” I sit up too fast. Bad idea. “Why?”
“You seemed stressed.”
“I’m not stressed.”
Everyone stares at me.
“All right, whatever,” I say. “I’m stressed. But I’m not drunk.”
“No.” He peers at me. “But you probably need all the brain cells you can spare if you’re going to talk to Warner. I would. I’m not too proud to admit that I find him genuinely terrifying.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing terrifying about that guy. His only problem is that he’s an arrogant son of a puta with his own head stuck so far up his ass he ca—”
“Wait,” I say, blinking. “Where’d he go?”
Everyone spins around, looking for him.
I swear, five seconds ago he was standing right there. I swivel my head back and forth like a cartoon character, understanding only vaguely that I’m moving both a little too fast and a little too slow due to Winston, number one idiot slash well-meaning friend. But in the process of scanning the room for Warner, I spot the one person I’d been making an effort to avoid:
Nazeera.
I fling myself back down in my chair too hard, nearly knocking myself out. I hunch over, breathing a little funny, and then, for no rational reason, I start laughing. Winston, Ian, and Brendan are all staring at me like I’m insane, and I don’t blame them. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I don’t even know why I’m hiding from Nazeera. There’s nothing scary about her, not exactly. Nothing more scary than the fact that we haven’t really discussed the last emotional conversation we had, shortly after she kicked me in the back and I nearly murdered her for it.
She told me I was her first kiss.
And then the sky melted and Juliette was possessed by her sister and the romantic moment was forever interrupted. It’s been about five days since she and I had that conversation, and ever since then it’s just been super stress and work and more stress and Anderson is an asshole and James and Adam are being held hostage.
Also: I’ve been pissed at her.
There’s a part of me that would really, really like to just carry her away to a private corner somewhere, but there’s another part of me that won’t allow it. Because I’m mad at her. She knew how much it meant to me to go after James, and she just shrugged it off with little to no sympathy. A little sympathy, I guess. But not much. Anyway, am I thinking too much? I think I’m thinking too much.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ian is staring at me, stunned.
“Nazeera is here.”
“So?”
“So, I don’t know, Nazeera is here,” I say, keeping my voice low. “And I don’t want to talk to her.”
“Why not?”
“Because my head is stupid right now, that’s why not.” I glare at Winston. “You did this to me. You made my head stupid, and now I have to avoid Nazeera, because if I don’t, I will almost certainly do and or say something extremely stupid and fuck everything up. So I need to hide.”
“Damn,” Ian says, and shrugs. “That’s too bad, because she’s heading straight here.”
I stiffen. Stare at him. And then, to Brendan: “Is he lying?”
Brendan shakes his head. “I’m afraid not, mate.”
“Shit. Shit. Shit shit shit.”
“It’s nice to see you, too, Kenji.”
I look up. She’s smiling.
Ugh, so pretty.
“Hi,” I say. “How are you?”
She looks around. Fights back a laugh. “I’m good,” she says. “How . . . are you?”
“Fine. Fine. Thanks for asking. It was nice seeing you.”
Nazeera glances from me to the other guys and back again. “I know you hate it when I ask you this, but— Are you drunk?”
“No,” I say too loudly. I slump down farther in my seat. “Not drunk. Just a little . . . fuzzy.” The whiskey is starting to settle now, warm, liquid fingers reaching up around my brain and squeezing.
She raises an eyebrow.
“Winston did it,” I say, and point.
He shakes his head and sighs.
“All right,” Nazeera says, but I can hear the mild irritation in her voice. “Well, this is not the ideal situation, but I’m going to need you on your feet.”
“What?” I crane my head. Look at her. “Why?”
“There’s been a development with Ella.”
“What kind of development?” I sit straight up, feeling suddenly sober. “Is she awake?”
Nazeera tilts her head. “Not exactly,” she says.
“Then what?”
“You should come see for yourself.”
ELLA
JULIETTE
Adam feels close.
I can almost see him in my mind, a blurred form, watercolors bleeding through membrane, staining