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"Mom, what's wrong with her face?!" Blakely asks.

"Oh my god!"

As my vision becomes spotty, I fall out of the booth and onto the floor.

"Call 911!" my mom screams, diving across the table for my purse. "Is there kiwi in this!? Where's her EpiPen?"

If I could speak, I'd tell her I don't have one, and I haven't had one since they took my bag in Wyoming. Since I can't, I just lie there on the floor and wait to die.

I can see the headlines now:Teagan Townsend, Infamous Sucker, Killed by a Mother Fucking Margarita.

THREE

Iwake up in Rancho San Flores.

Or at least that's what I think when I first open my eyes and take in my surroundings. White room, white sheets, shitty mattress and pillows. Then, I try to move and realize I'm covered in wires.

I'm not in Jurassic Park—I'm in a hospital because those assholes gave me kiwi, and I almost died wearing a sequined sombrero. My throat is still sore; I feel faint. On the side table, there's a bottle of water with pink lipstick around the ring, the same shade my mother wears, and a vase of flowers.

I grab the card, open the envelope, and pull out the note.

I bet your throat would have felt really good closing up around my cock like that.

-B.S.

What.

When I glance back at the table, there's a kiwi sitting next to that lipstick-stained water bottle. Suddenly, I'm not so thirsty anymore. I think I'm—I think it's happening again. I set the card down beside the flowers and look around the bed for that remotething with the call button. Those are still a thing, right? But my head is swimming, my vision blurry. If it's there, I certainly can't find it.

An alarm blares from the monitor behind me, and a few seconds later, a nurse enters the room.

"You're up," she says cheerfully. The woman crosses the room toward the monitor on the far side of my bed. I follow her with my eyes and watch her morph into a tiny blonde girl in a leather skirt. I blink hard, and when I open them again, she's back to her normal self. "Blood pressure drops after anaphylaxis are normal, but you should lie down."

I do as she asks, and she grabs a clipboard and a pen, scribbling for a couple of minutes before asking, "How are you feeling, Teagan?"

"Um, lightheaded, but not terrible," I tell her, my voice raspy and strained. "Am I going to be able to go home soon?"

"I think they're going to want to keep you overnight," she says. "You had a really serious episode, and we'll need to monitor you for a biphasic response."

"So, that's going to happen again?" I ask.

"It can."

"Awesome."

My mom steps into the room with a coffee in hand. "Hey, you're awake!"

"Yep."

"All right, Teagan. I'm going to let the doctor know you're up, and he'll probably be in to talk to you soon."

"Thank you," my mom says as she leaves the room. "Where did these come from? Did Blakely send them?"

"What?"

The flowers. She's talking about the flowers. Quickly, I turn back onto my side and reach for the card.

But there is no card. There's no kiwi, either. There's only the flowers and that half-empty water bottle with the lipstick ring around the lid.