that telltale hiss as the soda was opened to make sure it hadn't been tampered with?
I pushed my way through crowds, knocking over kids in my way. The sound of crashing trays gained everyone's attention, but I couldn't worry about that now. Weaving between tables and leaping over chairs like a hurdler, I finally reached him. I tried to slow down, but lost my balance, nailing my gut against the side of the table. Alec had his head tilted back guzzling the orange soda, and I reached out and slammed it out of his hands.
"Hey, what the . . ."
It splashed all over the kids around him before landing on the floor, spilling out on the green linoleum.
"Are you nuts?" Alec yelled. "Have you totally lost your mind?"
I didn't have time for stupid questions. "Was it flat?" I asked.
"Huh?"
"The soda— was it flat when you opened it?"
He just looked at me blankly, so I got down on my hands and knees, running my fingers through the sticky orange liquid. I wasn't sure what I was searching for . . . maybe undissolved granules within the soda that fizzed between myfingers.
I grabbed for the bottle that still spun on the floor. Nothing inside but a few drops of soda. I drank it. It tasted normal, untainted. I took a deep and welcomed breath of relief.
When I looked up, about a dozen kids were staring down in me. For a moment I locked eyes with Austin Pace, who was now a part of Alec's entourage. What's that old expression? My enemy's enemy is my friend? The two of them must have been getting along famously.
"He's insane!" said Austin. "He's gone completely off the deep end!"
"I don't think he was all there to begin with," said Alec.
My camouflage pants had now absorbed enough of the soda to be orange from the knees down, and my hands were still dripping the stuff. I came to the sudden realization that in my entire life I had never looked quite so stupid. I wished I could have been anywhere else in the world right then.
"Are you having fun?" Alec asked.
I stood up, trying to avoid eye contact with the kids around me, and reached into my pocket, pulling out a crumpled dollar bill. "Sorry," I said, handing him the dollar. "Buy yourself a new soda."
He threw the bill back at me. "I don't want your stupid money. I want to know what this is all about."
I opened my mouth to tell him, but quickly shut it again. I had overreacted—I knew that now. I had drawn the wrong conclusion from that medical report, and I looked silly enough without trying to explain the details of my stupidity. "I just thought there was something wrong with your soda, that's all."
"I don't like your mind games, Mercer."
"Yeah, get lost," said Austin.
"Yeah," echoed Brett Whatley, who stood with his arms crossed, trying to fill his role as bodyguard. Alec sat back down, dismissing me like a fly he had swatted away. "Better clean that up," he said, chowing down on his chili. But getting back down on all fours again was an indignity I wasn't going to endure. I turned, fully prepared to make my escape from this painful situation . . . until I heard something that stopped me dead in my tracks.
"Ugh!" Alex said. "What do they make this chili out of, anyway? Cigarette butts and coffee grounds?"
I turned back to see Moose take a taste of his own chili. "Mine tastes fine."
Alec took a second spoonful. "Barely edible," he said.
I moved toward them again, and this time dipped my finger into his chili, and tasted it.
Moose got up, ready to hurl me through the wall like a nightclub bouncer. But Moose was the least of my concerns now . . . because Alec's chili had a distinctly bitter, chalky taste . . .
"Alec, how allergic are you to penicillin?"
Suddenly he began to take me far more seriously than he had a moment before. "Why?"
But I already could tell that he was starting to feel uncomfortable, as though he had a slight fever coming on. His face was beginning to flush.
"We've got to get you out of here! We've got to get you to the nurse's office!"
I could see in
I pushed my way through crowds, knocking over kids in my way. The sound of crashing trays gained everyone's attention, but I couldn't worry about that now. Weaving between tables and leaping over chairs like a hurdler, I finally reached him. I tried to slow down, but lost my balance, nailing my gut against the side of the table. Alec had his head tilted back guzzling the orange soda, and I reached out and slammed it out of his hands.
"Hey, what the . . ."
It splashed all over the kids around him before landing on the floor, spilling out on the green linoleum.
"Are you nuts?" Alec yelled. "Have you totally lost your mind?"
I didn't have time for stupid questions. "Was it flat?" I asked.
"Huh?"
"The soda— was it flat when you opened it?"
He just looked at me blankly, so I got down on my hands and knees, running my fingers through the sticky orange liquid. I wasn't sure what I was searching for . . . maybe undissolved granules within the soda that fizzed between myfingers.
I grabbed for the bottle that still spun on the floor. Nothing inside but a few drops of soda. I drank it. It tasted normal, untainted. I took a deep and welcomed breath of relief.
When I looked up, about a dozen kids were staring down in me. For a moment I locked eyes with Austin Pace, who was now a part of Alec's entourage. What's that old expression? My enemy's enemy is my friend? The two of them must have been getting along famously.
"He's insane!" said Austin. "He's gone completely off the deep end!"
"I don't think he was all there to begin with," said Alec.
My camouflage pants had now absorbed enough of the soda to be orange from the knees down, and my hands were still dripping the stuff. I came to the sudden realization that in my entire life I had never looked quite so stupid. I wished I could have been anywhere else in the world right then.
"Are you having fun?" Alec asked.
I stood up, trying to avoid eye contact with the kids around me, and reached into my pocket, pulling out a crumpled dollar bill. "Sorry," I said, handing him the dollar. "Buy yourself a new soda."
He threw the bill back at me. "I don't want your stupid money. I want to know what this is all about."
I opened my mouth to tell him, but quickly shut it again. I had overreacted—I knew that now. I had drawn the wrong conclusion from that medical report, and I looked silly enough without trying to explain the details of my stupidity. "I just thought there was something wrong with your soda, that's all."
"I don't like your mind games, Mercer."
"Yeah, get lost," said Austin.
"Yeah," echoed Brett Whatley, who stood with his arms crossed, trying to fill his role as bodyguard. Alec sat back down, dismissing me like a fly he had swatted away. "Better clean that up," he said, chowing down on his chili. But getting back down on all fours again was an indignity I wasn't going to endure. I turned, fully prepared to make my escape from this painful situation . . . until I heard something that stopped me dead in my tracks.
"Ugh!" Alex said. "What do they make this chili out of, anyway? Cigarette butts and coffee grounds?"
I turned back to see Moose take a taste of his own chili. "Mine tastes fine."
Alec took a second spoonful. "Barely edible," he said.
I moved toward them again, and this time dipped my finger into his chili, and tasted it.
Moose got up, ready to hurl me through the wall like a nightclub bouncer. But Moose was the least of my concerns now . . . because Alec's chili had a distinctly bitter, chalky taste . . .
"Alec, how allergic are you to penicillin?"
Suddenly he began to take me far more seriously than he had a moment before. "Why?"
But I already could tell that he was starting to feel uncomfortable, as though he had a slight fever coming on. His face was beginning to flush.
"We've got to get you out of here! We've got to get you to the nurse's office!"
I could see in
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