Dia of the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

covering what I now knew to be a pretty good nose job. I could hardly tell she had work done. Unlike BB.
    Missy washed her hands, singing along loudly and off key to a song that totally wasn’t the one playing outside.
    Reagan’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I want yo u ou t . ”
    “Calm dow n, ” Missy said over her shoulder. “I’m not—I’m not gonna stay here l-l-long. Amber and I are going to hit a couple of other places. GIRLS’ NIGHT!” She threw her hands in the air, splashing water everywhere. She stumbled back a step turning away from the sinks.
    “Whoa.” She held out her hands to gain her balance.
    “Amber, can you hold this?” She untangled herself from her purse and shoved it at Amber.
    Missy’s eyes lost their drunken glaze and her brows knitted. She clutched her stomach. “I think I’m gonna be si—“ She burped up a torrent of pea-green vomit.  It splashed on the floor, some of it landing on Reagan’s shoes. Reagan let out an ear-piercing screech. I watched in shock as Missy coughed up another stream of barf. Whatever she puked up this time was a dark color, almost black. Against my better judgment, I ran over to join the scene, hoping I’d be able to keep down what I’d eaten during the last week.
    Missy didn’t look so good close up. Under the lights of the bathroom, every line and wrinkle was visible beneath her shoddy makeup application.  Missy looked older than nineteen. Older-than-my-mom-who-was-in-her-thirties older. It was like all the hard partying the gossip blogs liked to talk about had caught up and aged her a thousand years.  Her skin had taken on a sickly gray color and appeared sticky with swea t .
    Taylor stood not far behind Reagan—who screeched a “bitch”-laden tirade at Missy—looking a bit green. She groaned and made an awful retching noise. Reagan’s rant was cut short by her bloodcurdling scream.
    Taylor covered her mouth with her hand but chunks of pink gross—the same color as the mess on Reagan’s shoulder—dripped from her chin.
    “I’m s-s-sorry, Reaga n, ” Taylor said hoarsely. “When I see other people puke, I puke.”
    Reagan turned on heel, shoved Taylor out of her way and fled the bathroom.
    “Rae, wait!” Taylor called, running after her friend.
    “Come on, Miss. Let’s get you to a seat and get you some water.” Amber approached Missy carefully and put her hands on her shoulders, ready to steer Missy toward the lounge area. 
    Before Amber could help her side-step the first puddle of puke, Missy’s eyes crossed—rolling back in her head—and she collapsed.
    “Not again.” Amber sighed. She kneeled over Missy, calling her name and lightly slapping her face. Missy didn’t respond. Amber looked to me. “Can you help me get her over to the couch? She does this all of the time.”
    “Yeah. No problem.” I helped Amber lift Missy up and carry her over to the couch.
    “I’ll get help,” I said.
    “Thanks. I’ll stay with her to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”
    I took off to search for help.
    “What’s going on?” Brendan leaned against the wall near the door to the ladies’ room.
    “Reagan came out covered in puk e, ” he smirked.
    “Missy needs help.”
    The smirk disappeared. He stood up, his eyes wide in alarm. “What happened?”
    “I don’t know. She was fine—well, not fine-fine but like Missy-fine— then she like puked everywhere and collapsed.”
    “She puked on Reagan?”
    “No, that was Taylor.”
    “Oh, gross.” He laughed.
    “Amber said Missy passes out often but I’m gonna get some help.”
    “I’ll go with yo u, ” Brendan said, taking my hand.
    I felt another small jolt of electricity. It wasn’t static shock. It took a lot of willpower but I managed to keep the goofy, I-have-a-crush grin off my face as we made our way to the stairs. We ran down the stairs and burst through the door, interrupting an angry conversation (if you could call it that) between Reagan and one of the