Page 93 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“I should be heading out too,” Adam says. “Don’t give up on, Bea. You’d be good for each other.”
I full-body cringe. I’ll die of shame if this fever doesn’t kill me first.
“Yeah, okay,” Mike says with a laugh.
“I’m serious,” Adam says.
“Dude, she hates me.”
It’s true. I hate Mike. It’s the only conclusion I came to during my sobfest outside the library.
The chop saw whirs to life, and I don’t catch what Adam says in response. Maybe if I moved closer to the gate, but that sounds exhausting, and collapsing with a moan halfway there would definitely give me away.
“Women don’t want nice guys!” Mike sounds upset. “They want villains!”
I hear more sawing and my brother’s unintelligible reply.
“I’m a villain with Bea,” Mike says. “Always have been, and she’s a villain back. Except she’s freaking beautiful. Sharp.Insane too. The woman could curdle sunshine and distill it down into something sinister.”
I hear more power tools, which is fine because I’m trying to process if I’ve just been insulted or praised.
“You said she came to your play twice.” That’s Adam. “Do you know what it takes to get Bea away from her books andStarship Cruiserreruns?”
“Dogs by the name of Puddles?”
Adam laughs.
“Hey, how’s your Catstrike?” Mike asks. “Everything okay there?”
“What?” Adam says.
“Come on. I’m not an idiot.”
Adam pauses. “I know. But if you could pretend to be one when you come back after the play, I’d appreciate it. Things are…complicated.”
“Hey, always happy to play the fool.”
“You’re the man. Break a leg. Oh, and I know you’re going to text me later, but I don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Bea’s favorite flower. We’ve all just resorted to giving her cactuses.”
“Out.”
“Yup.”
I fall back asleep to the sound of the chop saw.
Chapter 29
I swallowed glass, and it’s worked its way behind my eyes into my brain. I got run over by a couple of golf carts on my last FroggoDoggo walk and crawled my way home where I then hallucinated an entire conversation between Mike and my brother I wasn’t meant to hear. It’s the only explanation that makes sense, given how I feel when I stumble from my Bali bed back into my cottage at dusk.
I want to sleep, but I need to take something for this headache. I grab a warm can of ginger ale from above my fridge and fumble in the fading light through the pills in my medicine cabinet until I find the acetaminophen. I spill half the bottle all over the zebracactus next to the sink, but fish two pills out from the pot. I’ll leave the rest for Future Beatrice to clean up. Right after she sorts out the rest of this mess that has become her life…my life. Whatever.
I brace myself against the bathroom counter as a shiver spreads down my spine. Did Mike really call me beautiful? The possibility makes my heart flutter, but that’s got to be the fever. I need a hot shower, but the thought is exhausting. I pop the acetaminophen, down half my ginger ale, and shuffle back to my bed.
But I’m too miserable to sleep. If I could find my phone, I could play an audiobook, but that will only make me think of Mike. The man has ruined fiction for me. I still cast him as the leading man in every book I read. Even if there isn’t major swoon happening in a novel, I wonder what his annotations would be, what he would underline… Instead of getting lost in a great story, I’m torturing myself with thoughts of Mike. And why? So I can be heartbroken when he kisses another woman?
