Page 2

Megan

“Sorry, Meg,” Rachel said. “I didn’t expect play practice to take this long, or for Luke to knock over the can of red paint onto the stage.” My best friend’s frustrated sigh echoed in my ear. “It’s almost cleaned up, and then I can come get you.” Rachel was my ride, which wouldn’t have been a big deal normally. I glanced at Sam, his blue eyes piercing me with their intensity, then looked away as awkward anxiety slithered up my spine.

“No problem. Just keep me posted. I’ll make my way back over to the school and meet you in the gym.”

I stole one more glance at Sam, who hadn’t moved, before putting my phone back in my pocket.

He’d wanted to kiss me. A part of me was secretly relieved that Shelby had ruined that, even though part of me had always wondered what it would be like to kiss Sam Wolfe. We’d been good friends since sixth grade. A kiss would mess that up.

But now we had almost-but-not-really kissed. And my head hurt. And it was getting awkward. I blinked as a wave of nausea swept over me. Worry twisted my belly.

All the anxiety must be getting to me. Cramps hurtled through my middle, and I flinched. Sweat broke out my forehead, and I chilled as a night breeze rushed over the dispersing crowd. Was I coming down with the flu?

Sam cleared his throat. “Are you going home with Rachel?”

“That’s the plan. But it’s taking longer than she expected.” I swallowed down another roll of nausea. Although, with the way my stomach was rebelling, maybe I should go home.

Of all the days not to drive myself to school.

“Are you okay?” Sam watched me carefully; his fingers grazed my arm. And just like that, we were back on friendly footing. It was the touch of my concerned friend, not the impassioned touch of the blond-haired Adonis he might have been a few minutes ago.

“No. Actually, I’m not feeling good at all. I hope it wasn’t your nachos and cheese.” I attempted humor to cover how bad my body ached.

“Call Rachel, and tell her I’ll run you home.”

“My house is out of your way.” I didn’t want to inconvenience him, and the thought of being alone with him in the car brought back the uncertainty of the did-we-almost-kiss that still simmered under my skin. I rubbed my head.

The breath left me in a rush as my intestines tied themselves in knots.

“Megan, let me help you,” Sam said softly. I glanced up at him. Another stab of lightning jolted through me. The salty stale smell of leftover concession-stand food littered on the bleachers around us made my already-queasy stomach revolt. I swallowed, the bile staying in my stomach for now. Something was definitely wrong with me.

“You sure you don’t mind?”

His smile looked more like a grimace. “I’m sure.”

Maybe he was afraid I was going to puke on his shoes. I hoped I didn’t.