Page 35 of Falling Like Snow

Me: Thanks, cuz!

Ellis: No prob. But are you also going to let me make you a dress for the Snow Ball? I’m trying to build my portfolio and could use the practice.

Me: Um, of course!

Chapter Ten

My relentless headache turned out to be more than a small annoyance. After going home from school early on Tuesday with a fever, I slept for thirty-six hours straight. By Thursday night, although I’m still congested and a bit drowsy, the fever has broken. I’m feeling light-years better when my doorbell rings.

I pause the TV, and with my comforter draped around me, I pull open the front door to find Asher.

“You haven’t answered any of my texts,” he says by way of greeting. “Your mom had to tell me you were alive.”

“Sorry.” I turn to head back to the couch because even though I feel better, moving still sucks the energy from me. “I’ve barely been awake.”

“That’s what she told me, and that’s the only reason I haven’t come sooner,” he says, following behind me. He holds up a bag as I go boneless on the couch. “I brought soup from the diner.”

“Thanks. You can put it on the table.” He does, and I lay my head on my pillow. “You probably shouldn’t be here. I don’t know if I’m contagious.”

“Since when do I care?” he asks, sitting on the far cushion. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was run over by a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. But I think I’ll be fine tomorrow. The fever was the worst part.”

“Good.” He eyes the dozens of nail-polish colors on the side table behind me. “And why does it look like a nail salon in here?”

“I had this wild idea that if I was going to be home from school, I might as well paint my nails to be festive…” I show him my fingers, all but my right pinkie sloppily painted red and gold.

He bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh. “I guess at least you didn’t miss the nails.”

“Nope. Or the skin around them. Or even my fingertips,” I say, turning my hand around to show him. “Except for the pinkie. I think I fell asleep before getting to that one. It was a bit of a fever dream.”

“It appears so,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey, they still look better than that time I let you paint my nails. And at least I didn’t destroy any furniture in the process.”

His eyes widen. “We said we’d never speak of it again.”

We both laugh at the secret knowledge that if anyone were to flip over the middle couch cushion, they’d find it covered in bright yellow polish.

I stuff tissues into my relentlessly runny nose and press play on Julie and the Phantoms.

Asher glances at the TV. “Again?”

“Of course. It’s my comfort show. And Kenny Ortega is the GOAT.”

He gives a half-hearted smile. Then he clears his throat. “So, I’m sorry about Monday night.”

My gaze shoots to him. I spent the entirety of that night trying to shake the weird feelings I had about the situation. Then, when I ended up sick the next day, I convinced myself that those feelings—like the headache—had just been a symptom of my illness. A strange effect the oncoming fever had on me. And since I’ve spent nearly two days sleeping, I haven’t had the time or energy to think any more about it.

“Sorry for what?” I ask, pausing the show again just as Julie is admitting she has a crush on her cute ghost friend.

“I’m not sure exactly,” he says. “You seemed… upset?”

“No. Surprised you never told me you were tutoring Daph, maybe, but not upset.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to tell you who I was tutoring.”

“You aren’t. You just usually do. But you didn’t this time.”