Yeah. Lots of pillow fights.
I kept turning the screen back on, but after a while I realized she wasn’t going to be texting back. Probably had to deal with a patient who had a wishbone stuck in his throat or something.
It was becoming increasingly clear to me that one of my best friends had murdered our least favorite member of our most favorite boy band, and any way you spin that it’s simply unforgivable. Maybe I chickened out when we should’ve called the police, but I wasn’t just going to barricade myself in this hotel room with a murderer.
So I made up my mind. This time I was going to stick to my guns.
I was going to get the fuck out of Dodge.
Damnit, I was starting to sound like Annie Oakley.
I opened the door, walked right through it, and didn’t stop until I was facing my friends/a possible murderer.
“I am so done,” I said.
“Oh, an encore performance,” Isabel said. “Good. I had so much fun at the matinee.”
“Eat a dick, Isabel!” I pointed my finger at her. Actually, it was more like my entire arm. It stretched out before me like a plank, the point of my index finger stopping just inches from Isabel’s face. “I can’t stand this anymore. Am I the only sane person here? Because none of you seem to understand what we just did. We moved a dead body! We could still very well go to jail if all this goes sideways! We incriminated our favorite people in the whole world. They’re going to get into a lot of trouble! They’re ruined. They’re over! Rupert Kirke didn’t deserve that. He didn’t do anything wrong!”
“They’re all the same,” Erin said.
“You eat a dick too, Erin!” I yelled. “I am so done. I cannot. I have lost the ability to can. I am consciously fucking uncoupling myself from this situation. You guys want to wreak havoc on our world as we know it? Fine! Count me out! I’m not going to hang around with one of you—one of you who likely murdered Rupert P. Yes, he was a ginger and he was a flop but he didn’t deserve to die!”
“She’s right,” Apple said. “I do kind of feel bad over what we just did to the boys. Maybe we should send them an Edible Arrangement?”
“Ugh!” My face was damp. I didn’t know if it was sweat or snot or tears, but I didn’t care. I wiped my face and pushed my hair back. I know I looked crazy, with half my bangs probably sticking up, my cola-stained sweater, my tear-streaked face. I didn’t need a mirror—their expressions were enough to let me know that my freak-out was concerning them. Good.
“This is crazy,” I said. “You’re all crazy.” I kept pointing. Pointing seemed like a very good idea at the time. “You’re crazy! And you’re crazy! And you’re crazy!” In my mind I heard Oprah’s voice. “You get a car! And you get a car!” My mom watched that episode on repeat so many times, weirdly happy and envious. It wasn’t healthy.
Shit, what the hell was I even talking about?
“I’m leaving this hotel room and I am not stopping until I find a police officer, and then I’m telling them everything,” I said. “So long. Farewell. Auf Wiederfuckingsehen good night.”
I turned around, swung open the door, and found Michelle Hornsbury standing on the other side of it.
“Hello,” she said.
Michelle Hornsbury walked past me into the room and I was powerless to stop her. It was the shock more than anything that paralyzed me, and I saw that it paralyzed everyone else too.
“Michelle, hi,” Erin said.
“Ethel, hello.”
“Erin,” Erin said.
“Erin, yes, of course, forgive me, I’m afraid I’m not in the right headspace at the moment, as you might say. It’s been a troubling couple of hours on my end. Rupert quitting the band and all.”
She hadn’t stopped moving since she came in. She opened some doors, bent down to look under the desk, rounded the couch. She didn’t miss a corner. I thought it was because she wanted to check that the room met her standards. I know better now.
“You know, you never actually gave me your room number when you left me out with the vultures in front of the hotel.”
“Oops,” Erin said, shooting me a furtive glance. “Guess I forgot.”
“No worries. Lovely boy at the concierge desk was a very chatty fellow. He gave it to me.”
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but what the fuckall are you doing in our room?” Isabel said.
Michelle Hornsbury sat on the couch and flashed Isabel a smile. “Why, Erin invited me to stay the night.”
“Would you excuse us for a minute?” I said. I opened the door to the bathroom and Apple, Isabel, and Erin followed me in.
“Is Michelle Hornsbury really staying with us?” I said.
“Hashtag-NOPE,” Apple said. “Hashtag-whodoesthat bitchthinksheis. Hashtag-thestarfuckinggolddiggingsuccubus trampgoes.”