Page 48 of Anti-Hero

I’m desperate to get out of here and also terrified to leave. Once I’m outside, I could go to a pharmacy. I could find out for sure. Could convertpossiblyto a yes or a no.

My phone’s fallen to the very bottom of my bag. I dig for it as I walk. I finally locate the device and pull it out, right as I collide with a wall.

A wall that turns out to be the guy I’m supposed to be on a date with tonight.

Perry’s face stretches in a broad smile when he recognizes me. It dims when he registers which direction I’m headed in.

“I’m so sorry.” The apology spills out in a torrent of words. “I’m not feeling well. Can we reschedule?”

Perry blinks a couple of times, clearly taken aback. “Oh. Of course.” His hands drop from my biceps, where he steadied me. “Are you okay? Can I help you get home?”

“I’m okay, thanks. I think—I think it was … something I ate.”

Perry nods sympathetically. “Food poisoning?”

The remaining blood drains from my face as I recall the recent times I’ve felt nauseous and chalked it up to stress or nerves or … food poisoning.

Keep it together, Collins.

“Probably. I’ll text you, okay?”

Perry’s, “Okay,” trails behind as I rush out the door.

Probably to throw up.

13

Bash is the one who opens the front door of my grandfather’s house. “Hey. How was Vegas?”

I yawn. “It was—wait, what are you doing here?”

My brother rolls his eyes before stepping to the side so I can enter. “Nice to see you too, bro.”

“I mean, why aren’t you at school?”

Bash hasn’t even been gone a month. Normally, he doesn’t come home until Thanksgiving.

He cocks his head. “Why do youthink?”

“Lili,” we say in unison.

I shake my head as I step inside the entryway of my grandfather’s mansion. The soaring ceilings and sparse furnishing have always reminded me more of a mausoleum than a home.

“Classes going okay?” I ask.

Bash shrugs. “Yeah, they’re easy.”

“Right.”

Bash is the brainiac in the family. Lili struggled in school because of her dyslexia, and I was always more interested in socializing than studying. Bash doesn’t seem to spend much more time studying than I did, yet he’s never brought home anything except an A.

A massive gilded mirror hangs directly across from the staircase. I check my reflection in it as we pass and straighten my tie. I changed on the plane back from Vegas, during landing because I had fallen asleep as soon as I was on board.

Above the staircase hangs the one sentimental decoration. A family portrait of my father, uncle Oliver, grandfather, and late grandmother. Everything else—the rugs, the vases, the furniture—is swapped out on a regular basis. But that painting has never moved. Not during my lifetime at least.

“I don’t get why we all had to meet this guyhere,” I complain to Bash as we continue toward the sitting room, where drinks get served before dinner. “Not to mention, we’ve allalreadymet him.”

“He wasn’t dating Lili when we met him,” Bash replies.

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