The Boy Who Died

Repercussions

Marcie

Someone is jackhammering my skull. Not only that, they’re shining a search light right at my closed eyelids, trying to burn away my corneas before I’ve even really woken up. Someone wants me really, truly dead. I crack open an eye—f**k, it’s so goddamn bright—and make out hazy, familiar shapes. That dark brownish lump could be my desk. The dark blue underneath me could be my bed, if I passed out on top of my comforter. The searchlight takes on the distinctive rectangular shape of my window. Everything hurts.

A warm, tempting smell winds through the air. Eggs. And bacon! My stomach rumbles. I grumble back at it. We’ll be staying in bed until they turn the searchlight off, thanks.

My bladder also protests, and it’s in a far less negotiable mood. With a great act of will, I sit up. My stomach lurches, but last night’s drinks don’t make a reappearance. Thank god for that. I’m still wearing Heather’s dress. Achingly, eyes half-closed, I fumble through changing into sweatpants and a T-shirt, then reach for my phone on my nightstand before heading to the bathroom.

My hand meets bare wood. No phone. The charging cable hangs limply from its hook. f**k. I paw through the discarded pile of clothes—I brought a purse, but Heather’s dress did have pockets. Still nothing. If I left my phone at a frat house, I’m going to lose it. Of course, my bladder informs me it’s going to lose it first, so I waddle out into the living room feeling like a zombie.

The warm smells intensify, and I spot Heather and Everett in the kitchen. They start to say something, but I wave them off. Bathroom first.

With my basic needs satisfied, and my teeth brushed to scare off some of the dead-person taste in there, I feel a little more human when I return to the living room.

“Morning.” Heather scrambles some eggs, wearing nothing more than a sports bra that struggles to cover all of her chest and what looks like a pair of Everett’s boxers, dangling perilously off her hips.

Everett flips me a lazy salute, his addition to the morning sludge-pile his shockingly muscular bare chest and a loose pair of Ardent sweatpants.

“What’s that smell?” I ask.

“Hangover cure.” Everett tends some kind of hash in a second pan. “Grease and more grease.”

I groan and drop onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Is anybody willing to take pity on someone who doesn’t party?”

Heather laughs tiredly. “Course. We are making enough for three, and I was gonna come wake you soon. Did you have an okay time?”

“Yeah.” I lean my crossed arms on the chipping counter, then put my aching head on them. “I think. From what I can remember.”

Heather laughs. Everett slips an arm around her waist and kisses the side of her forehead. Normally, their PDA grosses me out, but aside from the new, painful body I’ve woken up in, everything bothers me a little less this morning.

“You like, disappeared,” she says. “Any idea where you got off to?”

Everett dumps the hash from his pan into hers. “I think I saw you on a couch at one point?”

A few memories click back into place.

“God, I think I actually met someone.” My voice rasps out of my throat. “If I could remember what he looked like.”

“Ooh.” Heather stirs the eggs a few more times then shuts off the heat and divvies the food onto three plates. “What do you remember?”

I accept my plate and walk with the two of them into the living room. They basically share one cushion of the couch, leaving me free to spread out on the other half. I take my first bite of the hangover cure and moan.

“You’re gods,” I say through a full mouth.

They laugh in unison.

“Come on, they guy,” Heather says.

“I remember he was funny.” I smile between bites. “And easy to talk to.”

She nods approvingly. “A sapient life form at a frat party? Shock of shocks.”

I think about throwing a pillow at her, but that would take so much energy, so I just laugh with Everett.

“I didn’t learn his name.” I blush as I poke at my food. “But I gave him my number?”

“Oh my god!” It’s a downbeat version of Heather’s usual squeal, but that’s honestly much preferred at this time of day. “One party, and I’m turning you into a slut.”

I shake my head. “We didn’t do anything. I didn’t even kiss him.”

Heather boos. I laugh.

“Do you remember what he looked like?” Everett asks. “I might know him.”

“His hair was…um….” I remember the strobe lights, his warmth. Absolutely nothing identifiable. “No? But he likes the same weird video game I like.”

Ryan and I found Manticore Quest at the tiny thrift shop that survived for a couple months in our town one summer and played it ceaselessly. I wasn’t kidding when I said I had way bigger fan communities, but the mystery man from last night is the first person I’ve met in real life who’s also heard of it.

“I’ll put up posters for frat-house missed connections.” Everett grins.

Heather smacks him. “Don’t be a d**k. Seriously, I’m glad to see you coming out of your shell a little, Marcie. Has he texted you yet?”

I grimace. “I may have also lost my phone. Can you help me look after breakfast?”

The egg-whatever-it-was disappears quickly, and soon, we’re all on our hands and knees, trying to guess what drunk-Marcie might’ve done.

“Aha!” Everett holds up the little black clutch I brought to the party triumphantly. “I have the bag. Cross your fingers for phone.”

I scramble over to him and grab it. The zipper sticks a little, but I yank it open. Phone and wallet, still inside. Plus antacids, pain relievers, and a bunch of other things I probably should’ve taken last night. I ignore them all in favor of my phone. Right in the middle of the screen sits a single notification from an unknown number.

Hey, it’s Gwendivere with the Canadian girlfriend. I broke up with her on the phone last night. Want to hang out sometime?

“Yes, he did!” I shove my phone at Heather.

“Inside jokes?” she asks

I nod

“Then make a date!” She grins at me.

I can’t imagine doing anything else. I was right to be hopeful about this semester.