Page 110 of Dream On, Ramona Riley

Dylan woke upin Ramona’s bed.

At least, she thought it was Ramona’s bed. It was dark outside, the blinds on the windows shut tight, but no light seeped through the cracks. White noise whirred from some machine on the nightstand, and she was burrowed so deep in a nest of soft sheets and blankets, she was sure she’d never been so cozy in her life.

She rolled over to her back, and her head nearly split in two.

Okay, so, not the coziest she’d ever been then.

Her stomach roiled a bit, but a few deep breaths calmed it enough for her to sit up, then gulp from the glass of water on the nightstand. As the liquid slid down her throat, it was as though it washed away the muck blurring a window. The entire day filtered back to her—leaving Ramona in her house, her parents, her parents again, lots and lots of wine, an uneaten brunch, and then…

Fuck.

Lots of humiliating things.

Humiliating things that were most likely, definitely, absolutely all over the internet by now. Laurel was probably blowing up her phone, which she remembered she didn’t have, and had never been so happy to be unplugged.

All that shit could wait until her stomach and brain remembered their places within her body. She set the now-empty glass back on the table, then rubbed at her throbbing temples. She just wanted to go back to sleep, but her mouth tasted horrible and her bladder screamed at her. She slipped out of bed and cracked open the door. The house was quiet, and there was a bathroom in the hallway. She peed and washed her hands, then found a bottle of blue Listerine under the sink and swished it around her mouth until her cheeks stung. Finally, she crept back into bed and the cozy cocoon.

Just as she nearly slipped to sleep again, the door cracked open.

Ramona’s silhouette, holding a plate.

Dylan sat up. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Ramona shut the door behind her, then ventured into the room, set a plate of buttered toast and scrambled eggs on the nightstand. She clicked on the tiny blue lamp, sending a dim, watery glow throughout the room.

“Thought you might need some food,” Ramona said.

“Thanks,” Dylan said, though she didn’t feel she’d quite reached the hangover food stage of her idiocy.

“Okay,” Ramona said, then turned to go.

Dylan reached out and grabbed her wrist. The least stupid thing she’d done in the last eight hours.

“Wait,” she said. “Please.”

Ramona did, but she didn’t make a move to sit or even turn to face Dylan. She just let Dylan hold her arm, thumb brushing against the inside of her wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Dylan said. “I’m an idiot.”

Ramona shook her head, but Dylan saw the ghost of a smile on her profile. “You’re not.”

“You’re too nice.”

“April says the same thing.”

“Something we agree on.”

Ramona finally turned, the motion slipping her arm free from Dylan’s grasp. She sank onto the bed, leaving plenty of space between them.

“I think you’re selfish,” Ramona said. “Not stupid.”

Dylan felt the color drain from her face. “I think I prefer stupid.”

Ramona nodded, serious. “What happened this morning, Dylan? You left me alone in your house after…”

She trailed off.