bad thinking hurts right now. “It was dark. I downed Nyquil. That’s the last thing I remember.”
She sighs and looks around my room, shaking her head when she sees my laundry basket. “You going to be all right while I’m at work?” she asks. “Do you need anything?”
Wincing, I flop back against the pillows with an oof. “Fine. You don’t have to yell.” There have to be goblins using pickaxes on my brain. It’s the only logical explanation. I cough and cough and cough, nearly cracking a rib in the process. Closing my eyes, I sink into the pillow. My muscles relax immediately. Soft pillow. Cool pillow. Favorite pillow. This is nice.
“Well,” Momma says, “sorry to yell again, but you’ve got a really pretty visitor.”
My eyes pop open right as Marisa appears in the doorway, wearing both my Braves cap and Gamecocks hoodie. She’s holding one of those grocery tote-bag things. Momma pats her on the shoulder and waves to me before disappearing into the hall.
“Hey,” I say through a cough. “You need a Hazmat suit first.”
She smirks, walking toward my bed. “I like living dangerously.” She sits on the edge of the mattress. “That bad, huh?”
“How’d you know I was sick?”
She scrunches her eyebrows. “You texted me.”
“When?”
She pulls her phone out of the pocket of my hoodie. “Right here,” she says, hitting the screen a couple times. “From four o’clock this morning, and I quote: ‘I’m dying. Goblins are in my head and the TV mucus glob is in my chest. Erase browser history please.’” She turns it so I can see the screen. Yep, there it is. I am, in fact, a moron.
“Effin’ Nyquil,” I mutter. “I guzzled it when I got home because my throat was hurtin’.”
She laughs and stuffs the phone back into her pocket. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works. There’s dosage for a reason.”
Freakin’ doctors’ kids.
She digs into the bag and tosses me a pill bottle. “I wasn’t sure exactly what you meant by ‘goblins,’ but I took a guess. It sounded painful, so I brought Tylenol. Dad swears by it.”
“You brought me medicine?”
“That’s not all.” She holds up the bag. “OJ, chicken noodle soup, and ginger ale. It’s not, like, homemade soup or anything. Just the canned stuff. I totally would’ve made you homemade, but it was super-early.”
My mouth drops open. “You’re Mary Freakin’ Poppins.”
Tucking her hair behind her ear, she shrugs. “What can I say? I’m perfectly perfect.”
You really are. Clearing my throat, I nod to the bag. “No whiskey in there? You know it flushes out everything from colds to pneumonia.”
She rolls her eyes. “We’re going with science here, not wishful thinking. Plus your mom would have my butt if I got you drunk.”
I lean back against the pillows, sinking into them once again, and this—this is what heaven feels like.
“You have fun yesterday?” I ask.
“So much.” The mattress shifts as she stands. She leans over, her hair falling across my face as she kisses my forehead. She pulls away slowly, her mouth hanging open. “Oh. Oh, God. Dude, you’re scorching.”
Somehow, I manage a smirk even though it hurts like hell. “We both know I’m hot, Rissa. You don’t have to tell me.”
She places her hand on my forehead. “Well, your ego’s still in shape, so you’re not dying.”
I grab her wrist gently, lowering it to my side. “I am dying. Stay here with me. You can’t deny me my dying wish.”
“I have schoolwork to do,” she says. “And you need sleep, Goblin Boy.”
My smirk stretches into a full-blown grin. “Are you scared of me now? Can I at least blame my stupidness on the fever?”
“Only for so long.” She kisses my forehead again. “Get some rest. Text me whenever you can.”
“You came all the way over here just to bring me soup and orange juice?”
“You took care of me. My turn to take care of you. That’s what more-than-friends do, right?” She inches toward the door, clutching the grocery tote. “I’ll put these down in the kitchen. Is there anything you need before I leave? I can heat up the soup or get some water?”
Her words blur together as my eyes close. Dying hurts. “Can’t you stay a little longer? Please? I’m not above begging.”
She sighs. Her footsteps move back toward the bed, and soon the mattress dips as she sits again. Her hand slides into mine. “I’ll stay as long as you need me,” she says. “Or until you go unconscious. Whichever comes first.”
My breathing steadies. Her skin