Chapter 12
Lucy
I wake up itchy. I roll onto my back and rub the side of my cheek with the back of my wrist. It gets itchier the more I scratch it.
I open one eye. The lid feels heavy, so I close it again.
Maybe I cried myself to sleep. I roll onto my side, but my face doesn’t feel right.
I touch my cheek, and it’s not its normal texture.
My hand brushes my chin, and the shape of my face is wrong.
I force myself out of bed and walk to the bathroom.
When I look in the mirror, I don’t move. I’m squinting because the light is strong, but that’s not why I’m frozen. I step closer to get a better look at my face.
“What the fuck?”
My cheeks are puffy. My eyelids are puffy. My lips are bigger than they should be. There are red patches on my neck. I lift my shirt collar. There are red patches down my chest. I pull the shirt up further. There are red patches on my ribs. I touch my cheek. It’s warm.
I look at myself again. Everything is so swollen. I think only my scalp is okay.
“What the fuck.”
Why the hell would my face be this swollen?
I move my facial features around. Okay. I’m not having a stroke. I can move both sides of my face. I try to smile. I feel my skin stretch and pull in ways that’re uncomfortable. I swallow. Okay. My throat’s not closing up. I lean in closer and notice the tiny bumps on my face.
Maybe someone has a dog? No, I get hives, not whatever this is.
I haven’t eaten anything new, used any new products, or been around any pets. Was it the party last night? I run through the night. The drinks, the dancing, the kiss. Oh, God. I will not think about the kiss.
I walk back to my bedroom and get my phone with hands that are shaking. I call Gianna. She doesn’t answer. I call again. And again.
She finally answers. “Lucy, hey—”
“Gianna, my face is so swollen I can barely see out of my eyes. Something’s wrong. It’s really bad. I have patches down my neck and on my stomach. Please come home.”
“Wait — what — slow down — Lucy, slow down, I can’t — what?”
“My face.”
“Your face.”
“Gianna, it’s swollen. I look like I went ten rounds. There are hives everywhere. I don’t know what to do.”
I can hear her brain catch up. “Okay. Okay, okay, okay. I’m coming. I’m at Benson’s. I’m coming right now.”
“Can I die from this?”
“Lucy, Camdenthe. Camdenthe. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Do not tell your brother about this, please. I don’t want anyone to know. Hurry up. Please.”
The call ends, and I rub my face to relieve the itch. My brain bounces to Benadryl. Do I have Benadryl? I know I’m having an allergic reaction to something, so I need Benadryl.
I walk to the kitchen and open the medicine drawer.
We have no Benadryl. Ibuprofen won’t do anything.
I close the drawer. I walk to the entryway mirror where there’s better lighting.
I look even more swollen in this lighting.
It’s so puffy. I look at my lips and notice that the top lip is sort of crusted. I lean in to get a better look.
I think the thing I haven’t been letting myself think. I kissed Benson Reeve last night. He’s six foot three, captain of the Camden U Wolves, and my roommate’s brother. I close my eyes. I am not going to think about whether my face was already starting to swell when he kissed me.
Shame feels like a furnace in my face. I gulp, starting to sweat. I open my eyes and look at my lips, mortified that he might have kissed me like this last night. Please let my face have been a normal face when he kissed it. Please let this have happened after I went to bed.
I do the math. The only abnormal thing I drank was the punch at the beginning of the party and when Mara handed me more while we were dancing. There’s a chance my face was fine when he kissed it. I take that chance and clutch it like a railing.
I walk to the fridge and pour myself water. I drink a cup when the apartment door opens.
Gianna stops in the doorway.
Mara is behind her. “Oh my god!”
“Mara,” Gianna scolds.
Gianna walks over fast, takes me by the shoulders, and looks at my face. Her own face is saying I am being calm because I love you. I can see her not freaking out.
Mara walks up and scans my face. “It’s so swollen.” She frowns. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. Should we take you to the ER?”
Gianna looks at my neck. “Urgent care.”
“I think I just need Benadryl.”
Mara says, “Girl, that only lasts four hours.”
Gianna agrees. “You’re going to need something much stronger.”
“I’m Camdenthing.”
“Thank God!” Gianna’s eyes widen. “Can you imagine if your throat closed, and I wasn’t home?”
Mara says, “Go get dressed. We should go now before the lines get really long.”
“Did you eat something different?”
I shake my head.
Gianna’s eyes widen. “What if it was your mom’s cooking? You said she never cooks, right?”
I think about it for a moment, and then I nod because I don’t know what to think.
Mara drives.
I sit in the back with Gianna. I have a baseball cap pulled low. The cap is Gianna’s. It says WOLVES in white block letters on the front.
The receptionist at urgent care looks up when I walk in. She looks at my face once and then back at her computer.
“Allergic reaction?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you Camdenthe?”
“Yes.”
“Someone will call you soon. Take a seat.”
She gets me back fast. There are people in the waiting room who have been there longer. They look at me as I walk to the back. The intake nurse is a woman in her forties with a French braid. She does all the things and then starts asking questions.
“Allergies?” she asks.
I shrug.
She looks at me. “Trouble Camdenthing?”
I shake my head. She tilts my head back and then to the side. She looks at my lips.
“Tongue swelling.”
“No.”
“Tightness in the throat.”
“No.”
“Other symptoms — nausea, dizziness, lightheadedness.”
“No.”
“Did you eat mango?”
My gut sinks. “Mango? No, I don’t think so.”
Her lips purse to the side. “Looks like a mango allergy. Maybe kiwi, but I’d bet mango.”
She types on her computer and asks me which pharmacy I prefer. I tell her I’ll take the closest one.
“You’re going to be itchy and miserable today and most of tomorrow. We’re going to give you a steroid shot and a heavy dose of Benadryl. Take it easy. Drink water. The face will go down by tonight. The hives will fade in a day or two. We’ll send you home with three days of oral steroids.”
“Okay.”
“Roll up your sleeve for me.”
The shot hurts. I make a face. Gianna, who has been holding my hand since the curtain closed, squeezes once and lets go.
The PA comes in to confirm the plan, asks me twice if I’m sure about my Camdenthing, hands me a printed sheet about anaphylaxis warning signs, and tells me to go home.
We are out in forty-five minutes. The pharmacy on the way home takes ten more. By the time we are back at the apartment, my body is exhausted. I put myself on the couch and groan.
Gianna brings over the Chick-fil-A and says, “I know, Lucy. You’re going to be okay.”
“Mango allergy?” Mara asks.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “What the hell?”
Gianna turns on the couch, looking at Mara. “Oh my god! It was the punch! Percy makes it for every party. He puts mango chunks in it.”
I groan, taking a bite of waffle fries. “Please don’t tell anyone about this.”
“We won’t.”
“I’m serious,” I say. “I don’t want anyone to know. Not anyone.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t worry. We won’t tell anyone.”
Mara sits on the opposite side of me and starts eating. “God, I’m starving.”
Gianna shoves a piece of chicken in her mouth. “Me too.”
“How are you feeling after the shot? Do you feel better?”
“No, I feel dumb, itchy, and tired.”
“You’re not dumb,” Gianna argues.
“Pretty dumb.”
Mara says, “You didn’t know it was mango.” She huffs. “I want to tell Percy his punch almost killed you.”
I lift a finger. “Absolutely not.”
“We’re not telling Percy,” Gianna says.
“Don’t tell anyone,” I beg. “Look at me.”
They both look at me, and I Camdenk first. I start laughing. That gives them permission to finally laugh too.
“Give me your phone,” Gianna says. “We should take pictures to keep track of your swelling.”
“Good idea,” Mara says to her.
I hand over my phone and don’t smile as she takes pictures.
Gianna hands my phone back and looks down at hers. “My brother is making sure you’re alright.”
“Did you tell him?” I ask, horrified that she did.
She shakes her head, texting him back. “No, but he saw me freak out this morning. The least I can do is tell him you’re fine.”
I look at her.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”
“Thanks.”
I wake up at four in the afternoon. The apartment is quiet. Mara is gone. Gianna’s bedroom door is cracked. I can hear the click of her trackpad.
I get up and go to the bathroom. I’m afraid to look in the mirror, but I do anyway. My face is the same. It’s still swollen.
The next few days are going to be absolutely miserable.
On Sunday, I wake up and can’t open my eyes.
They’re glued shut. I try to open my mouth, and it’s the same thing, except I accidentally peel them open.
What the hell. I touch my face. I think it might be even more swollen today.
I force my eyes to open and then I walk into the bathroom and take a hot shower.
I let the water pitter patter against my face, and it feels so nice and relieving.
I close my eyes and hate myself for thinking about Benson Reeve.
The kiss was reckless. We were both drunk.
I doubt it meant anything. I take my medicine and climb into bed.
Gianna checks on me a few times, reminding me that she had Sunday plans. I tell her I’ll be fine.
At one, I text my brother. Normally, I would call or FaceTime, but my face is horrendous.
Me: What are you doing?Bear: Tyr took me to a Tigers game.
I stare at the text and don’t know what to feel.
Me: Did you have fun?Bear: It was the Tigers and the Twins. The Twins won.
He sends me an image of the stadium, and then an image of him, Tyr, and my mom. I stare at their smiling faces, feeling sick to my stomach.
Bear: He bought me two : Nice.Bear: One of them is for : Tell him I said thank : Love you
He doesn’t reply.
It’s night when I take the third steroid, and the swelling hasn’t gone down.
Today is officially worse than yesterday.
I sent emails to my professors for my Monday classes, along with an image of my face, to ask for the day off.
Most reply that it’s okay to take the day, and I can borrow someone’s notes.
I know I won’t need to because I’m already ahead.
Before I go to sleep, I stare in the mirror at my red, puffy face. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, so I’m going to hide until it’s fully gone, and according to Google, it could take a few days up to a week.