Ever since the party, Honey has been way more aggravated with Maddox. I think it was very bold of him to give us a ride back home. He got us back in one piece and helped get Myrtle to bed. I think it was very sweet of him.

"Go bother some other poor soul!" Honey shouts at Maddox when he comes to our lunch table.

For some reason, he doesn't say a word. No witty comeback, no names, nothing. He just looks at Myrtle, who has her head tucked in her hands. Her brown hair is loose.

"Keep your voice down," I say, patting Honey's arm to get her attention. "That doesn't help her headache."

Honey groans and sits back down. But her glare is still on Maddox. He's holding a water bottle. He sets it on the table and pushes it towards Myrtle's place. And then he walks away.

Michelle and Stephie start whispering to each other. Honey just crosses her arms and keeps staring after him. Myrtle slowly raises her head and glances at the bottle of water.

"Don't drink his poison," Honey says, about to reach for the bottle.

"It's brand new," Myrtle says, snatching it from the table and twisting off the lid. "And I need the liquid anyway."

She guzzles the water. Every last drop. And then, after twisting the cap back on, she stands and aims the bottle for the trash can. The one across the room, and right next to Maddox's table. Right when he turns and glances our way, Myrtle lets the bottle fly. It soars across the room, missing Maddox by a mere inch, and then dives into the can perfectly.

"Three points," Myrtle says, just loud enough for everyone who saw to hear. And then she pushes her chair away from the table to leave. Honey and I exchange a look of admiration. Myrtle has always had hidden athletic abilities. Unlike me, as I have the tendency to be weak and uncoordinated. I can't truly participate in physical activity, but I still wish I could.

"Let's go, girls," Honey says, rising from the table and following Myrtle. Michelle, Stephie and I scramble to follow. Along the way, I pass Mateo. He smiles and motions for me to pass him in the hallway.

"Gracias," I tell him, passing quickly.

"De nada, Andrea," he replies, but I'm trying to get away from him as quickly as I can. Because my heartbeat is accelerating and that scares me. What if my heart is failing?

I'm panting when I reach the room I share with Myrtle. I collapse on my bed, face first into my pillow, and try to catch my breath.

"What happened to you?" Michelle asks; I hear the scrunching of a wrapper.

I lift my head and see that she's on the floor with a bag of mini chocolate-chip cookies.

"My heart got too worked up," I say taking a deep breath and letting it out as I sit upright. "I shouldn't have tried to run."

"You sure that's what it is?" Myrtle asks with a smirk.

"It is," I reply, my voice going up an octave and I clear my throat. "It is."

Her smirk becomes a smile. The conversation drops. Thank goodness. I am in no mood to talk about boys when some of us are quite determined to avoid the subject at the moment.

"I'm so relieved I don't work today," Myrtle goes on, grabbing a handful of the mini cookies. "I do not have it in me to face the junior manager today."

"Sounds like a total jerk," Honey says, tossing a cookie into her mouth.

"Not always, but yeah."

Stephie snorts, "Haters gonna hate," she says, her mouth full. "Jerks be jerks."

"Jerks be jerks," Michelle chimes in.

"You don't think people can change?" I ask, grabbing the bag and taking a handful of cookies for myself.

Honey snorts and replies, "I do, but sometimes they just don't have it in them."

I sigh; Honey is entitled to her opinion. And she has good reason to that opinion.

***

I've been napping. But I'm waking up now. To the sound of hushed voices.

"I'm feeling better, thank you."

"Good. I may act like a jerk sometimes, but I wouldn't want you to . . . you know."

"Only sometimes? You weren't always like that."

The other voice goes quiet for a moment. I'm more conscious now, and can recognize Myrtle to be the first voice. But who is she talking to?

"I'd better go," the second voice says with a sigh. "I'm working today. You have the day off, right?"

"I do," Myrtle replies.

"Good."

I hear footsteps leaving down the hall. And then the door is closing and I hear Myrtle sighing.

"I know you're awake."

I smile and slowly sit up, to avoid any dizzy spells. Myrtle is on her bed, knees tucked to her chin. Her brown hair is in a frizzy mess around her shoulders.

"How could you tell?" I ask, yawning. "I was being quiet."

"Your breathing pattern is different when you're sleeping," she says, shrugging.

"And who was that you were talking to?"

"You couldn't tell?"

I shake my head and Myrtle visibly relaxes.

"Don't worry about it," she says, shrugging again. "How're you feeling?"

"I may have been pushing myself to go to that party," I reply, yawning again. "I think I have a doctor's appointment later this week."

"Okay, try not to over do it until then."

"I doubt I could even try."

We go quiet. And then Myrtle is moving to sit next to me. She pulls me into a hug. I think Myrtle is the only one - excluding Honey and the twins, because I know they understand - who has been aware of my illness.

"You in the mood to watch a movie?" Myrtle asks; I hear her sniffling as she pulls away and gets up. Her back is turned to me.

"I'm in the mood for an ugly cry," I say, knowing it will give her an excuse to let it out.

"I have Ashley's copy of The Best of Me."

"Perfect."

***

Honey and the Twins join us about mid-way through the movie. They don't bother asking Myrtle why she's in tears. The movie offers explanation for that. But I know better. I also know not to throw her under the bus. Sometimes, Myrtle just needs an excuse to cry.

"James Marsden is amazing," Myrtle says, blowing her nose into a tissue.

"We didn't even get to the end yet," Stephie says, tossing a piece of popcorn at her.

"Excuse me for watching this movie fifty times. I happen to know what is coming. You'll understand when you see it."

Seeing is believing, I guess.