by Meg Cabot
Chapter 5
‘Oh, you’re awake then,’ the guy said when he noticed that I was staring at him. And then he smiled. And I knew exactly what it must feel like to reach level sixty at Journeyquest. Suddenly, it was a little hard to breathe. Also, it wasn’t at ALL annoying that one of the machines next to my bed started pinging like MAD in time with my heartbeat. ‘Oh no,’ the guy said, the smile disappearing as he glanced at the machine in alarm. ‘Did I do something?’ ‘No,’ I assured him in my still-weird voice. But who even cared? Obviously this guy was a hallucination. But one that I was going to enjoy as long as I could. I smiled back at him, and asked, relieved the pinging had gone back to normal (how embarrassing!), ‘Are those for me?’ Because he was holding a big bouquet of red roses. Like his presence wasn’t enough of a treat. He’d brought me flowers as well. ‘Oh,’ he said, looking down at the roses like he’d only just remembered they were there. He laid them down on the bed beside me. ‘Yes, they are. Do you remember me? Gabriel Luna? From the Stark Megastore grand opening last month?’ I had no idea what he was talking about. I guess I semi-remembered something about a Stark Megastore. I definitely remembered him though. Or at least, I thought I did. That dark hair and those piercing blue eyes – those I knew. Just not the name that had been attached to them. Or how I knew them. I couldn’t believe such a totally hot guy was visiting me in the hospital. And I really couldn’t believe he had brought me flowers. ‘Of course I remember you,’ I lied. ‘That’s good to know,’ Gabriel said, smiling again. And this time, even though my heart didn’t speed up (thank God), I felt it melt. Just a little. Because of course even though he was handsome, he wasn’t Christopher. ‘I wasn’t certain you would. Couldn’t have been the best day of your life . . . ’ What was he talking about? I had no idea. ‘Ha ha,’ I said, smiling back at him. I reached over to touch one of the rose’s silky crimson petals. Which is when I noticed my hand . . . . . . wasn’t my hand. I mean, it was, obviously. It was attached to my arm. But it looked . . . different. Instead of my chewed-up, raggedy fingernails (I’m a hardcore nail-biter), I saw that I had what appeared to be a grown out, though perfect-except-where-the-cuticles-needed-to-be-pushed-back, French manicure . . . pink on the bottom, with white tips. Weird. Also, did my fingers look . . . thinner than before? Could you lose weight in your hand? I suppose so, if you were unconscious long enough. But still. How long had I been sleeping, anyway? Then I realized: long enough for Frida to glue on those Lee Press On Nails she was always threatening to make me wear. Then I realized Gabriel was talking to me. He was saying, ‘You look well. They’re saying – well, all sorts of things about you. I didn’t know what to expect. No one would tell me anything about you. They aren’t allowing visitors . . . I had to sneak on to this floor –’ He snuck on to my floor to visit me? That was so sweet . . . ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, actually sounding concerned. ‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘A little sleepy . . . ’ ‘Then you rest,’ Gabriel said, looking slightly alarmed. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you. ’ ‘No, it’s OK,’ I said, fearful he was preparing to leave. My hot-guy hallucination! It couldn’t end so soon! But the truth was, I was having a hard time keeping my eyelids up. They kept kind of falling closed, no matter how hard I tried to keep them open, just like in Mr Greer’s class. ‘Don’t go,’ I said to him. It was just an inch or two from the rose petal I was stroking to where he was resting his hand. And before I could stop myself, I had lain my fingers over his. What was I doing? I mean, me, touch a boy’s hand? Especially the hand of a boy as cute as Gabriel Luna. Not that any boy as cute as he was had ever come close enough to me before in order for me to reach his hand . . . I mean, obviously there was Christopher, who I considered cute . . . . . . but I knew the rest of the world – or at least Frida and the rest of the Walking Dead – didn’t technically agree with me. At least, not unless he got a haircut. Then again, Christopher had never brought me ROSES before. Christopher hadn’t come to visit me in the hospital (don’t think I hadn’t noticed). Christopher had never stroked the back of my hand with his thumb, as Gabriel had just done. The few times I’d ever touched Christopher’s hand with mine, he’d moved his out of the way with lightning fast speed, thinking it was an accident (it so wasn’t). But the thing was, none of this was really happening anyway, since it was all a hallucination . . . so what did it matter? This was the perfect opportunity to practise holding a boy’s hand so that, when the opportunity with Christopher actually arose – and it was going to have to some day, right? Right? – I’d know what to do. The minute my fingers touched his, Gabriel stopped looking like he was getting ready to get up and leave. Instead, his face kind of softened a little, and he even turned his hand over to hold mine, and, doing that amazing thumb-stroking thing, said, in that deep soothing voice of his, ‘I’ll stay until you go to sleep. ’ Wow. That sounded nice. Super nice. And exactly what a hallucination should say. I could only hope Christopher, when the time came, would be as nice. But there was still something vaguely wrong. Something was missing from my perfect-boy-hallucination scenario. Then I realized what it was. ‘Will you sing me that song?’ I asked, my eyelids so heavy I was looking out of mere slits. ‘The one you sang . . . ’ Where? I didn’t even know what I was talking about. All I knew was that I’d heard him sing a song . . . somewhere. I was pretty sure. He smiled. ‘I didn’t know you even heard that song,’ he said. ‘I thought you didn’t show up until after my performance was over. But I’ll gladly sing it for you. ’ What was he talking about? But then he started singing, super softly, and it didn’t matter. And the sweet notes of the song he was singing soon lulled me all the way to sleep . . . but not before I heard, way off in the furthest reaches of my mind, a voice that sounded a lot like that of the lady with the bun in her hair going, ‘Hey, you there! What are you doing in here?’ And the singing stopped. But by that time I was asleep anyway, and so I didn’t care. A hot guy named Gabriel Luna had sung me to sleep. A hot guy named Gabriel Luna had brought me roses. A hot guy named Gabriel Luna had held my hand. It had to all be a dream. The most perfect dream I had ever had. Or would have been, if it had been a different boy, and not Gabriel Luna. I never wanted to wake up. Except that of course I did. Wake up, I mean. The next time I opened my eyes, it was daylight again. And sitting in the chair beside me was a girl who kept shaking my arm and going, ‘Nikki! Nikki, wake up. Wake UP!’ Then, when she saw that my eyes were open, she went, ‘Oh, thank God. What are they pumping into you anyway, to make you sleep so hard? I thought you were in a coma or something. ’ I just blinked at her. She looked familiar somehow, but I couldn’t quite figure out how. Was she someone I knew from school? And if so, why was she talking to me? Because she was totally gorgeous – perfectly smooth cafe-au-lait coloured skin, a funky bleached-blonde pageboy, collarbones so sharp they looked like they could cut through tin cans, like those knives on TV. And the gorgeous girls at Tribeca Alternative do not speak to me. Except to ask me to get out of their way. ‘You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to track you down. Do you know they’ve got rent a cops at all the elevators, to keep people from getting up here to see you? Getting in to see you is harder than getting a table at Pastis for Sunday brunch,’ the girl prattled on. ‘I had to sneak up the stairwell, then hide in the ladies’ room until the coast was clear. Thank God I had a copy of the newest issue of Us Weekly to throw on to the head nurse’s desk in order to distract them long enough for me to sneak by. It’s a good thing Britney’s on the cover again, or it never would have worked. ’ Slowly, I realized how I knew this girl. Not because I’d been asked by her to move out of the way in the hallways of my school, but because she’d been on the covers of some of Frida’s magazines. She was Lulu Collins, daughter of Tim Collins, the famous film director whose cinematic adaptation of Journeyquest had made so much money . . . and almost ruined the whole game for me forever after. Why in God’s name was Lulu Collins sitting besid
e my hospital bed? ‘Anyway’ she went on, ‘Since no one would tell me anything about what was going on with you, I just took matters into my own hands. I had to. I know Kelly’s going to be mad, but whatever, I’m your best friend – and she’s not going to keep from me what’s going on with my best friend. Also, to tell you the truth, I couldn’t take the whining any more. You wouldn’t believe how much she’s missed you. So I brought her to see you. I know it’s against the rules, but whatever, some rules are just stupid. ’ And without another a word, Lulu Collins reached into her colossal tote bag, and pulled out . . . . . . Nikki Howard’s fluffy white dog. Which she promptly deposited on my chest. And can I just say, that dog went mental for me? I have never really considered myself much of a dog person. I mean, I like them well enough, but my parents never thought it was a great idea for us to have pets, given their wacky living situation (Dad in New Haven, Mom in New York City). But this dog. Holy moley, this dog loved me. It was jumping all over me, licking my face, dislodging wires – ‘Oh!’ Lulu cried as one of the machines next to my bed began to ping crazily. ‘What the – how do you reconnect this thing? Oh, here . . . stick it back on. STICK IT BACK ON!’ I didn’t know what she was talking about. Apparently, the wire had been connected by a sticker . . . to my forehead. I put it back where it had been, and the pinging stopped. Lulu immediately relaxed. ‘Phew,’ she said. ‘Oh my God, seriously, they are guarding this place like it’s the freaking front door to Cave. And for once, I am so not on the list. Which, whatever. Did you know Kelly won’t say what’s wrong with you? The press is having a field day. You should see what they’re saying, Nik, it’s unfreakingbelievable. I’m just saying no comment cos of what happened last time. But you look way better than you did then. Seriously. Even though you’re doing the no-make-up thing. Cosy, stop licking her. ’ I finally managed to pry the dog away from my face. But then I saw something that distracted me from both the dog licking me all over and the girl I had never met before who was acting like she knew me. And that was that there was a vase of red roses sitting on the windowsill – along with about a million other bouquets. But none of the others was red roses. Wait a minute. Had my hallucination been real? Had Gabriel Luna really come to visit me, and sung me to sleep while holding my hand? No. No way. ‘So when are they letting you out of here?’ Lulu wanted to know. ‘Also, what do you want me to tell Brandon? Because he’s been calling and stopping by the loft nonstop. He’s the one who figured out where you were. And, oh my God, you know that guy from the Stark grand opening? That British guy, the singer, what’s his name . . . ’ ‘Gabriel,’ I said. And my heart gave a thud at the mere mention of his name. Man, I was in trouble. Especially since I didn’t even like him. I liked another boy entirely. I mean, didn’t I? ‘Right, Gabriel,’ Lulu said. ‘Anyway he sent a whole BASKET of roses to the loft. Seriously. The whole place stinks of roses now. That guy’s got it bad for you. Anyway, Brandon saw them – he stopped by the other night, thinking he’d catch you at home, which, you know, as if – and now I think he thinks there’s something going on with the two of you. You and that British guy. Which is good, right? Brandon totally deserves it. I saw him dancing with Mischa again at Cave, don’t be mad, but you’ve been kind of MIA, and – Cosy, stop it. ’ She tried to pry the dog’s tongue off my face again, but it didn’t do any good. For such a small puffball of a creature, Nikki Howard’s dog possessed a surprising amount of saliva. ‘God, I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have brought her. ’ ‘No,’ I said, reaching up to stroke the little dog’s soft, curly hair. ‘It’s OK. It’s just that . . . ’ Lulu had taken a can of energy drink from her enormous tote, and now she cracked it open and took a sip. ‘Sorry,’ she said, when she noticed I was looking at the bright pink can. ‘I’m so hung over. Oh my God, I was soooo wasted last night, all I had was a PowerBar for lunch and then some popcorn and like twenty mojitos and, ooooh, did you see this?’ She waved an enormous ring in my face. ‘Justin got it for me. Pink sapphire. What do you think? I’m worried he’s thinking – you know. And I am so not ready to go there. What am I, gonna squeeze out a couple of spawn like Britney? No thanks. But I’m keeping it anyway, because it’s so pretty. ’ I blinked at her. Was any of this really happening? Was Lulu Collins really sitting in my hospital room, telling me that Gabriel Luna had sent a basketful of roses to me, care of the loft she and I supposedly shared, and showing off a ring given to her by someone named Justin (she had to mean Justin Bay, star of the movie version of Journeyquest. That’s who she was rumoured to be dating, right? At least according to Frida’s latest copy of Us Weekly, which I’d just happened to pick up and read. Cover to cover)? What was going on? Maybe this was a continuation of the dream I’d had about Gabriel Luna. Except that hadn’t been a dream, had it? Because the roses he’d given me were sitting right there on the windowsill. And what about this dog? This dog wasn’t a hallucination. I could feel its little heart pounding next to mine as it licked my face with its hot, wet tongue. No, I’m awake. I’m definitely awake. Which was why I said to Lulu, ‘I’m sorry. But I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about. I don’t . . . I mean, have we . . . met?’ Lulu’s little rosebud mouth fell open. And when it did, I could see she had a wad of pink gum in there. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Is that what’s going on? Do you have amnesia? Because you hit your head pretty hard when you passed out, Nik. Although Gabriel was all over you in a second, and so were the paramedics. Well, they were already there, working on that girl the TV fell on—’ ‘That’s another thing,’ I said. ‘My name’s not Nik—’ Lulu’s mouth closed with a snap. Her eyes narrowed. And suddenly she was on her feet, her hands on my shoulders, shaking me, while ‘Cosy’ barked with alarm. ‘What have they done to you?’ Lulu shrieked. ‘Who was it? Who did this? Was it the Scientologists? I told you to stay away from those people!’ Being shaken – even though it was by a tiny girl who looked like a walking toothpick – was causing all the machines at the side of my bed to start beeping. Also, I can’t say it felt all that good. ‘Oh my God, Nik, it’s me, Lulu,’ the girl, who was now kneeling beside me on my bed, was screaming at me. ‘Your best friend! Your room-mate! Or loft-mate, because, you know, we never could share a bathroom, let alone a bedroom, because with your acid reflux, ew, but—’ ‘What’s going on in here?’ demanded a shrill voice from the doorway. And I turned my head to see a nurse staring at us in horror. ‘Get away from her!’ the nurse yelled. ‘Orderly! Orderly!’ And the next thing I knew, a shrieking Lulu was being yanked off me by a burly man in blue scrubs, while a nurse had grabbed the little white dog – who was snarling pretty ferociously for such a powder puff – and was carrying it out of my room while my mom and Dr Holcombe came rushing into it, both looking white-faced and concerned. ‘Nikki,’ Lulu screamed as they carried her off. ‘Don’t worry, Nikki! I’ll be back! I’ll get to the bottom of this, if it’s the last thing I do –’ Then a door slammed, and both she and the yapping dog were gone. The only sounds were the mad pings and pongs coming from the machines by the side of my bed. ‘Are you all right, honey?’ Mom asked me, her eyes wide with alarm. ‘I’m fine,’ I said as Dr Holcombe bent over me, checking his wires. ‘But what’s going on? Why did she think she knew me?’ ‘We’re very sorry about that, Emerson,’ Dr Holcombe said. He’d succeeded in shutting off most of the alarms. Now there was just the steady ping-ping of my heart monitor. ‘The nurses are supposed to keep out non-family members . . . ’ ‘But I don’t know Lulu Collins,’ I said. ‘Why did she think she knows me? Why was she calling me Nikki? Mom – what’s going on?’ ‘Doctor,’ Mom said worriedly She was chewing on her lower lip, something she only did when she was seriously upset about something – like Dad not getting back to Manhattan in time for one of Frida’s clarinet recitals or my science fair. ‘Shouldn’t we—’ ‘Absolutely not,’ Dr Holcombe said. He was messing around with a needle. ‘Emerson needs rest. ’ ‘But, Doctor—’ �
��The best thing for her is to . . . ’ I didn’t hear the rest of their conversation. That’s because Dr Holcombe did something with the needle he’d been holding – even though I didn’t feel a thing – and the next thing I knew, I was dozing off again, way too sleepy to keep listening. If I’d known that that sleep was the last truly restful one I was to have for a long, long time, I’d have tried to enjoy it more.
