The Way Back Home Read Online Free PDF Page B

spinning. When the others catch up, Dylan uses his own card to magically open up the portal to the upper floors and I march in, pulling off my high heels.
    Ooooh, the cold floor feels good.
I grin. Why is that funny?
    Colton stands next to me in the back, quiet but still determined. His hand slides up the underside of my arm and then down my spine, grazing the top of my butt.
    â€œIt’s not gonna happen, Colton,” I say, annoyed.
    I hear Stella laugh, but it sounds like she’s in a tunnel.
    The door opens and I lurch out, leaning against the wall until Dylan takes my hand and leads me toward the right room. Colton follows us down the hall, but I’m pretty sure my brother slams the door in his face. Once inside, I throw my arm around Stella and glare at Dylan. “She’s sleeping in my bedroom, got it? If I can’t make out with somebody tonight, then you can’t, either.”
    He opens his mouth but shuts it again, at a complete loss for words. We all just stand there, glaring back and forth at one another like some kind of stare down, until Dylan finally busts out laughing. Stella joins in, falling to the floor as she hoots, and then I flop back onto the sitting room sofa, laughing so hard I feel like I could throw up.
    Uh-oh.
    And then, I throw up.

    â€œI’m dying,” I croak the next morning. “Or no, I’m dead, I think. My skull was crushed, and the pieces are piercing my brain. I’m definitely dead. And I didn’t go to heaven. Which sucks.”
    â€œOh, terrific. Not only are you an angry drunk but you also have dramatic hangovers,” Dylan says from somewhere. He must’ve died, too. Our parents will be so sad. “Bird, take this.”
    I open my eyes and everything looks blurry. A person who resembles my brother is sitting in front of me on the coffee table with a glass of water and two aspirin. “This helps,” he assures me. He places his hand under my head and lifts me a little so I can take the pill and wash it down. Water never tasted so good. “And for some reason, McDonald’s does, too.”
    I feel my stomach lurch and clap my hand over my mouth, slamming my eyes shut again and lying back on the couch.
Did I sleep on the couch?
    â€œDon’t you dare throw up again,” Dylan commands.
    Again?
    â€œI’m dying,” I hear Stella moan.
    I turn my head and barely open my eyes as my best friend stumbles into the room. She folds herself into a giant armchair, looking worse than I’ve ever seen her, which is saying something since I’ve seen that girl with the flu. “Stella, your hair,” I manage. Her thick bangs are sticking out everywhere, like a sign giving conflicting directions, and it looks like there are pieces of something matted in her shoulder-length tresses.
    â€œOh my gross!” she shouts when she notices it. “Bird, I’m going to kill you!”
    She stumbles out of the room, and I hear a door slam. Then I hear water running from the bathroom and assume she’s in the shower.
    â€œWhat’d I do?” I ask.
    â€œStella helped you last night,” he explains. “When you got sick. We cleaned it up, but she was pretty hammered, too, and I guess she missed some spots.”
    Mortified, I realize my puke is in her hair. “I’m a terrible friend,” I whisper, closing my eyes again. For some reason, I feel my eyes well up with tears.
    â€œWe’ve all been there,” he says, which is weird because I’m waiting for the Dylan Barrett holier-than-thou speech about being responsible and making good decisions. “Consider this your first semester in college. Just… pace yourself next time, okay?”
    I nod. He pats me on the shoulder, and I wince. I ache all over.

    â€œI am never drinking again,” I say from the backseat of Dylan’s rental car as I chow down on a Quarter Pounder with Cheese on our way back to the resort for