Page 52 of On the Bright Side
Both. I hope they’ll stay down.
“Just a m-minute.”
We sit.
It’s been some time.
How long?
Ellie’s still here.
Is this medicine even doing anything?
Maybe if I close my eyes again.
And stay very.
Still.
Chapter Twenty-five
Ellie
Jackson has beenfrozen in place for fifteen minutes. He’s clutching his arms wrapped around his knees, both resting his chin and keeping his head upright, with his eyes squeezed shut. I can’t figure out how to adjust the temperature in this room, so I gently draped a blanket over his shoulders. I don’t know if that helped, but he didn’t shrug it off.
I’m not even sure how we made it back to the hotel. I ducked my head beneath Jackson’s arm and led the way, his legs moving enough to manage some of his own weight despite having his head drooped over my shoulder. We left the stadium with a burst of energy. He was in a rush, trying to cover as much distance as he could, until he could only manage a snail’s pace. Then the fifth-floor hallway was party central, which made it nearly impossible to get to our room unnoticed.
I sit beside him, leaning against the bedframe, watching him closely. I keep trying to reassure myself that he’ll be fine. He saidthis is what happened last weekend and had medicine that he could take, which is the only reassurance I have right now that he’s okay to stay here.
Whatever’s going on, he needs to go to the doctor again.
He was slurring his words. He was very dizzy. But he said he was fine, right?
It’s getting late. If he isn’t doing better in the next five minutes, I’m finding help.
I watch his chest rise and fall. Slow, steady breaths. Carefully reaching forward, I brush a strand of hair away from his eyes. He flinches at my touch.
“I’m so sorry, Jackson,” I whisper.
I really, really hope it’s not my fault that this happened.
He’d been quiet most of the game. He was eager to sit down and wanted to go back to the hotel. But I made us stay later. And then I kissed him.
He must be so mad at me right now. He doesn’t even seem to want me here. But there’s no way I’m leaving him alone like this.
My stomach rumbles. I need something more to eat than the concessions we had earlier, and Jackson must, too, considering how empty his stomach is right now. Except I don’t really have an appetite. Even though I’d bagged up the vomit, it’s still sitting by the door. With a very strong scent.
Okay, screw five minutes. I need to find a chaperone. How long is this supposed to last? Isn’t vertigo usually a symptom of something else?
As I stand up, Jackson finally stirs.
He reaches to rub his hands down his cheeks and leans back slowly. Cautiously.
“You’re alive.” I kneel, joining him on the floor again and searching his face for any sign of something going on still. He’s pale and exhausted. But groggily alert and becoming more aware by the second. “Oh, thank god.”
“I’m…starving, actually.” He reaches an arm to the bed but must not have the strength. I move forward to offer my assistance, which he reluctantly accepts. “Ugh. I really want to brush my teeth.”
“I’m sure.”
