Page 32 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
“Oh, yeah.” She twists the blender off the stand and carries it to the island where a glass is waiting. “I’ll clean it out for you,” she says as she pours.
“You beaut. Thanks. I’ll grab my board.”
I’m halfway down the hall when she calls. “Hey, Arch?”
“Yeah?”
“I made too much. You want half? It’s a green smoothie. I’d hate for it to go to waste after I used some of your protein powder.
For a second, I debate whether to trust Piper. Has she got more planned for me than just an early morning pointedplaylist? Probably, but if she’s drinking the smoothie, too, it can’t be too bad, right?
“Sure. That’d be great, cheers,” I call before grabbing my board.
When I get back to the kitchen, I prop my board against the wall before Piper hands me a tall lidded-metal cup that looks identical to the one she’s holding in her other hand. I take it from her but wait until she takes a long sip of hers before putting my own straw to my lips.
When she smiles and says, “Delicious, if I do say so myself,” I reckon I’m safe.
One long sip and swallow proves me wrong. The taste of garlic and onion fill my mouth, and I shudder as I run to the sink. I spit out what I haven’t swallowed, then scoop water from the tap into my mouth.
When I stand upright again, Piper is sipping her smoothie and scrolling on her mobile.
“What’s in this?” I lift the cup.
Her gaze wanders from her mobile to me. “The smoothie?” An innocent shrug follows. “Kale, spinach, a little almond milk, strawberries, and other fresh berries. Some Greek yogurt and a little protein powder. Does it taste okay?”
Her brow furrows with worry, and I almost fall for it.
Then I remember everything she did on Sunday.
Piper isn’t the innocent kid I remember.
She’s a terrorist.
“Okay, fine.” I glare. “Sorry for yesterday. Now tell me what you did to the smoothie.”
She blinks with surprise. “Thank you for the apology, but I didn’t do anything to the smoothie.”
I walk to the table and hand her the cup. “Prove it.”
Without breaking eye contact, Piper takes the glass and sips loudly from the straw. She doesn’t flinch. “Tastes fine to me.”
She hands me the smoothie, then drinks from her own. “No difference at all.”
My eyes drop from her back to my cup. Am I mental? Possibly, but I still don’t trust her. I also won’t let her win. If she wants to pretend there’s nothing sketchy happening here, I can pretend too.
I take a long sip of my smoothie, but before it’s halfway down my throat, I’m gagging. I make it back to the sink just in time for everything to come back up. The sight and smell of the green concoction make me gag again. Over the sound of my retching, I hear Piper laughing.
I twist off the lid, dump the rest of the smoothie down the drain before glaring at Piper.
“No difference at all?”
She shrugs. “Maybe yours had a little extra something.”
A thousand possibilities run through my mind, all of them requiring medical attention. “Did you poison me?”
Piper meets my glare with a meme-worthy eye roll. “Only if you’re allergic to ranch dressing mix.”
I don’t get what she means bymix, but I know there’s no bottle of ranch dressing in my fridge. I hate the stuff. Does she remember that?
