“You drank enough,” Mika said, scrubbing her face with a towel. I gaped at drops of water near her shorn hairline, still mesmerized by her new haircut.
“I could never have a shaved head,” I said.
“Nope,” Mika agreed. “I’m more punk rock than all you chumps combined.”
I laughed, and then hiccuped.
Caroline drew one leg up and rested her chin thoughtfully on her knee. “I don’t get why everyone drinks so much here. It makes you do such stupid stuff.”
“Meh,” Mika said. “Being stupid is what we do best. But for the record”—she turned off the sink in one dramatic motion—“I drank exactly nothing tonight. Nothing but soda.”
I dropped my washcloth on the marble countertop. It landed with a wet, slopping noise. “Well, I feel pretty damn awful.”
“How awful?” Caroline asked.
“I don’t know. I think I’m still tipsy.”
“Tipsy,” Mika snorted.
“My head feels like someone’s pushing it. And I mean, look at my face—I look like Jigglypuff from Pokémon. Oh, and my mouth’s all grunky.”
“Brush your teeth,” Mika said, flicking some water at me.
I flicked some water back at her. “Jamie was drinking,” I said, picking up the washcloth again and folding it over in my hands. “Do you think he’s okay?”
“Yeah,” Mika said. “I think he just holds beers. He doesn’t really drink them.”
Talking about Jamie made me feel peeled open; it made everything awful that had happened that night come rushing to the surface—what Alison had said, what Dad had said, what Jamie had said. And what I’d done. I tried to push it aside, but I must have looked worse for wear because Mika was watching me in the mirror. She met my eye and hitched up a single eyebrow, like she was trying to answer my unasked question. How much does she know about me and Jamie? I thought about how Jamie trusted her, how they’d been talking to each other all night. If Mika knew what he thought of me now—I didn’t want her to tell me.
“Anyway, Tipsy.” Mika grabbed one of the hotel glasses from the side of the sink and filled it up for me. “Time for bed.”
I slept in Alison’s bed, and Mika and Caroline shared the other one. In the middle of the night, I woke up. Alison was sitting bolt upright, staring at me. My head felt like it was trying to crack itself open, and my mouth was grunkier than ever. So this is sobering up.
“What is it?” I rasped.
Alison sighed. “If you choked on your own vomit and died tonight, I would never, ever forgive myself.”
“I had three drinks,” I said. “They were mixed drinks! There wasn’t that much alcohol involved.”
“You’ve never drunk before, baby sister. That’s practically a bottle of tequila.”
I turned over. “God, Alison. Stop being so overdramatic.”
“Good,” she whispered. “Stay there. That way if you vomit, it’ll come out the side and you won’t die.”
CHAPTER 30
SATURDAY
I WOKE UP.
With a hangover.
Oh. Dear. God. So much of a hangover. It took a minute for the various sensations to settle over me—headache, nausea, putrid taste in my mouth. I pulled the comforter over my head and gagged. The bed smelled like booze. No, I smelled like booze. The smell made me queasy, but I already felt queasy, so then I just felt like throwing up.
Which was so the opposite of awesome.
I burrowed under the covers. Alison wasn’t next to me, and it didn’t sound like anyone else was in the room. I couldn’t even hear anything outside. No morning news broadcasts, no creaky doors being thrown open. The morning was silent and dull. I lay there for a while and felt sorry for myself. Sorry I wasn’t home anymore. Sorry this was my last full day in Tokyo. Sorry that my head was trying to detach itself from my body.
But mostly, I felt sorry about Jamie.
“Hey,” a voice said from the other side of the room.
I threw the comforter back and sat up. The bed spun; it was like I was on one of those horrible fairground rides Alison and I rode whenever we went to the Jersey Shore. Mika was there, sitting in the chair by the window and reading a room-service menu.
“Hey,” I squawked.
“You awake?” She licked her finger and calmly turned a page. She was very clearly not hungover, and I got the feeling she was savoring the role reversal.
“Maybe. I feel—not good.”
“Yeah, I figured. This entire room smells like an old towel soaked in sour milk.”
I grabbed my stomach and doubled over. “Less. Vivid. Descriptions. Please.”
“Baptism by fire, dude.” She closed the menu. “Let’s get you some breakfast.”
Caroline had left a note for me, scribbled on the pad of hotel stationery on the nightstand. Had to lifeguard! Have fun in America! E-mail when you get there? XO
“You are so going to e-mail her.” Mika was reading over my shoulder. “Aren’t you?”
I tucked the letter into the front pocket of my suitcase. “Shut up. You like her, too.”
When I moved, my body screamed at me. There was a stale, syrupy taste in my mouth that wouldn’t go away. I sat on the edge of the bed and drew my legs up to my chest. The feeling-sorry-for-myself had not abated.
Mika grabbed me some clothes from my suitcase. My T-shirt that says SCIENCE IS AWESOME. THAT IS ALL. My pink cotton shorts. “You own pink clothing?” Mika said, tossing me the shorts.
I picked them up, slowly. “Don’t judge. Anyway, you’re forgetting that my watch is sort of pink.”
Mika glanced at my bare wrist but didn’t comment on it. She told me it was a miracle I hadn’t puked and that Alison had gone out for a walk with my mom. “To keep her off the scent,” she said. “Like, the literal scent.”