Speechless(10)

                Suddenly my nausea is the last thing on my mind.

                I’m still processing the sight in front of me when Noah sits                     up, looking panicked. Instinct kicks in and I back out hastily, knocking my                     shoulder hard against the door frame. Noah calls after me, but I ignore him,                     stumble down the hallway and down the stairs, where I lean against the banister,                     trying to catch my breath.

                Noah Beckett is gay? I never would’ve guessed. To me he was                     always just the kid who rides around on his skateboard in the school parking                     lot. I think he’s on the soccer team or something. He’s the kind of affable guy                     who hangs out with a lot of different groups and gets along with just about                     everyone. Who blends in with the crowd. I’ve never really noticed him                     before.

                Well, I don’t think I’ll have a recognition problem now.

                “Feeling better?”

                Brendon approaches me with a cautious smile, like he’s afraid                     I’ll hurl all over his shoes at any given moment. Not a total impossibility. At                     this rate, I’m pretty sure my hand on the banister is the only thing keeping me                     upright.

                “Uh—” Why is it that I always sound like such an idiot around                     Brendon? Seriously, I am incapable of forming a complete sentence in his                     presence, even when I’m stone-cold sober. It’s kind of pathetic. Okay, a lot                     pathetic. I breathe out and try to focus. “Where’s Kristen?”

                “In the kitchen, I think,” he says. His brow furrows. “Is                     something wrong?”

                “No,” I say, “I just—I need to talk to her.”

                I find her in the kitchen surrounded by half of the basketball                     team. The guys are all rummaging through her cabinets looking for snacks.                     Kristen’s lucky her parents are out of town; this place is going to be a                     disaster area come tomorrow morning. I’ll probably have to help her clean it up,                     too. Somehow I’m the one who always ends up cleaning out the vomit-ridden toilet                     bowls.

                “Kristen!” I say, louder than I mean to. Everyone’s head                     swivels around to look at me as I wobble up to her on unsteady legs. Balance is                     a tricky concept at the moment.