Never.

And I mean...never.

In the history of...ever.

Will I ever drink an appletini again.

Bleughghaerghghgh.

I mean, did I even drink that much?

Where has all this green come from?

And why do I continue to retch

Even though there's nothing there?

Nothing but bitter bile!

Oh, God! Not again!

Please, I beg you!

If there actually is a hell,

It's brought to you by the letter A

The first letter of the drink of demons,

And I'll have to guzzle them all.

Here we go again. Round ten.

Ready player barf.

"Jeez, Tal," says Katie. "Hurry the hell up."

I groan. "Please...no...shouting."

Katie knocks on the door,

And it might--quite literally--

Make my head explode.

"Dude, are you coming to class?"

"Dude, I'm going to my grave!"

I moan. Another wave of nausea strikes.

Thank God I didn't have sex last night,

Or I'd be crapping kittens right now.

"You got ten minutes," insists Katie.

"Or I'm going without you."

"Screw class!" I retch, and even my bile

Doesn't wanna play ball. "I'm taking a

Sick day. I'm dying here, you don't even--"

"But the debate is worth

Thirty percent of our grade.

And you're up!"

Suddenly my stomach churns

For a reason way worse.

My eyes widen.

Sweat drenches my dress

In an instant.

Shit! That's today?

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no!

Rick's my partner.

He's gonna kill me.

If I don't show up

Or have a valid excuse,

That's a zero.

For both of us.

Brushing my teeth with venomous fury,

I try my damndest not to smell like

A chemical tanker collided with

Some kind of deadly biohazard.

When I look at my reflection,

I look like Marla Singer on a bad day.

Paler than usual. Mascara smeared.

Not to mention my lipstick. I'm a clown.

I rub all the makeup remover I possess

Into my skin and wash it with soap

And some of it still won't come off!

Dang it, dang it, dang it.

My frizzy dark waves are a bird's nest.

And every downward tug of the brush

Threatens to tear my hair

Straight from the root.

Dear God, if you let me off the hook,

I swear I will go to church for a month.

Please, God.

I need a miracle, but miracles happen.

Right? I mean, maybe my prof will

Run out of gas and miss the entire class.

Ya know, nothing too serious.

When I open my closet,

Nothing is clean.

"Here, Tala! Catch!" Katie throws me a

Classy pencil skirt while I drag out a

Wrinkled blouse from two days ago.

"Thank you!"

When I swallow, it feels like razor blades.

Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!

My ankle hurts like hell, so I wear

Granny boots that lace up for support.

As I half-jog, half-limp to class,

Every step is stabbing agony,

And yet, all I can think is:

Dear God, don't let me

Disappoint my professor like this.

And please don't make me barf in class.

Oh gosh, Rick is going to go nuts!

He did everything right.

Didn't drink anything.

Helped me get home safe.

Went to bed at a sensible hour. Maybe.

And probably prepared perfectly.

And what do I do?

Screw up like a stupid little numbnut.

When I rush into class

At the very last second,

I can't find Rick anywhere.

And my stomach plummets again.

The professor calls me to the podium.

Oh, crap! Oh, crap! Oh, crap!

I mean, I know it's bad.

But is it that bad?

Do I smell like a sewer

In the middle of summer?

Probably...I didn't even shower.

"I'm afraid we'll have to cancel today,"

says my prof. "Rick's called in sick."

I bite my tongue. "Oh, my gosh!"

"Now if it were anyone else but Rick,

I'd ask for a signed doctor's note,

But he hasn't missed a single class

In three years. That's gotta be a record."

The professor shakes her head.

Thank God!

No, thank Rick!

The pedantic angel on my right says,

That doesn't matter. You still owe God.

One month of mass attendance, right?

Pathetic that my faith has come to this.

I used to love receiving the Sacrament.

Now I use church as a bargaining chip

To selfishly ask God for minor favors.

What's become of me?

What's happened to my moral compass?

When I get back from class, I call Rick.

"Hey, you. Are you feeling all right?"

He chuckles. "You stole my question."

"I feel like refried death," I groaned.

"But what's this I hear about you being

Sick for the first time in, like, forever?"

"I--"

Silence falls.

"You did it for me," I whisper.

"Didn't you?"

"I did it for us," he insists. "Let's not allow

Our cumulative GPAs to drop three

Tenths because of a foolish mistake."

"I could kiss you,"

I exclaim without thinking.

Silence.

"Only you wouldn't want me to

Because I smell like refried death too."

Rick graces me with a small laugh

For the first time in weeks.

"I'm suffering from a deadly case of

February fever. The only cure? Hosting

A movie marathon with lots of pizza,

And curling up on a bedraggled sofa

With a lady I care about very deeply."

"Pizza?"

"In a few hours, you won't get enough."

"Gosh, if only you could find her,"

I say in a teasing voice. "Insta-cure!"

Silence falls heavy between us

And I hold my breath.

"Tala..."

"Yes?"

He pauses. "I need you."

His heartfelt words give me butterflies

And not simply because his voice

Seems even deeper or more gravelly

But because of the memories they

Evoke in my mind's eye, crystal clear.

Tala, I need you!

The same words he said three years ago

Back then as a desperate whisper,

His lips brushing against my earlobe

As his fingertips trailed up my sides

Leaving glorious goosebumps behind.

It was my nineteenth birthday weekend

And he'd invited me to the dorm room

While his roommates had travelled for

Spring break. Alone, we sat together as

Man and wife, not unified, but close.

Much too close for our Catholic faith.

The scene replays whenever my need

For his touch grows too great and it

Haunts me to this very day.

Tala, I need you!

"You do?" I whisper,

Breaking the long silence. "But--?"

"Before we got engaged," he says,

"We were very close friends. For years.

I miss not having you in my life."

My throat clenches. "I miss you too, Rick."

Silence falls once more.

"Tala..?"

"Yes?"

"Will you..."

What?

No!

What?

Is?

Happening?

"Will you...accept my pizza?"

I burst out laughing. "You're crazy!"

"I'll concede to any toppings

Except ham and pineapple

Because that's just bonkers."

I can't stop laughing, mainly from relief.

"And though you may not think so,

Pizza has cured many hangovers

Since before parties were invented."

"I'll consider your offer," I counter,

"As long as I can pick at least one movie."

"Deal!" I can hear the smile in his voice.

"So that's a yes?"

"Yes, and bring microwave popcorn."

"You bet." He rumages around. "I've got

Sweet and salty, your favorite."

The devil in me whispers,

Mmm, yes it is...

Now, now Tala! says the angel. Enough!

I breath a quiet sigh of relief, knowing

My best friend has finally returned.