Airhead

And that was that there was a vase of red roses sitting on the windowsill — along with about a million other bouquets.

But none of the others was red roses.

Wait a minute. Had my hallucination been real? Had Gabriel Luna really come to visit me, and sung me to sleep while holding my hand?

No. No way.

‘So when are they letting you out of here?’ Lulu wanted to know. ‘Also, what do you want me to tell Brandon? Because he’s been calling and stopping by the loft nonstop. He’s the one who figured out where you were. And, oh my God, you know that guy from the Stark grand opening? That British guy, the singer, what’s his name… ’

‘Gabriel,’ I said. And my heart gave a thud at the mere mention of his name. Man, I was in trouble. Especially since I didn’t even like him. I liked another boy entirely. I mean, didn’t I?

‘Right, Gabriel,’ Lulu said. ‘Anyway he sent a whole BASKET of roses to the loft. Seriously. The whole place stinks of roses now. That guy’s got it bad for you. Anyway, Brandon saw them — he stopped by the other night, thinking he’d catch you at home, which, you know, as if — and now I think he thinks there’s something going on with the two of you. You and that British guy. Which is good, right? Brandon totally deserves it. I saw him dancing with Mischa again at Cave, don’t be mad, but you’ve been kind of MIA, and — Cosy, stop it.’ She tried to pry the dog’s tongue off my face again, but it didn’t do any good. For such a small puffball of a creature, Nikki Howard’s dog possessed a surprising amount of saliva. ‘God, I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have brought her.’

‘No,’ I said, reaching up to stroke the little dog’s soft, curly hair. ‘It’s OK. It’s just that… ’

Lulu had taken a can of energy drink from her enormous tote, and now she cracked it open and took a sip. ‘Sorry,’ she said, when she noticed I was looking at the bright pink can. ‘I’m so hung over. Oh my God, I was soooo wasted last night, all I had was a PowerBar for lunch and then some popcorn and like twenty mojitos and, ooooh, did you see this?’ She waved an enormous ring in my face. ‘Justin got it for me. Pink sapphire. What do you think? I’m worried he’s thinking — you know. And I am so not ready to go there. What am I, go

I blinked at her. Was any of this really happening? Was Lulu Collins really sitting in my hospital room, telling me that Gabriel Luna had sent a basketful of roses to me, care of the loft she and I supposedly shared, and showing off a ring given to her by someone named Justin (she had to mean Justin Bay, star of the movie version of Journeyquest. That’s who she was rumoured to be dating, right? At least according to Frida’s latest copy of Us Weekly, which I’d just happened to pick up and read. Cover to cover)? What was going on?

Maybe this was a continuation of the dream I’d had about Gabriel Luna.

Except that hadn’t been a dream, had it? Because the roses he’d given me were sitting right there on the windowsill.

And what about this dog? This dog wasn’t a hallucination. I could feel its little heart pounding next to mine as it licked my face with its hot, wet tongue.

No, I’m awake. I’m definitely awake.

Which was why I said to Lulu, ‘I’m sorry. But I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about. I don’t… I mean, have we… met?’

Lulu’s little rosebud mouth fell open. And when it did, I could see she had a wad of pink gum in there.

‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Is that what’s going on? Do you have amnesia? Because you hit your head pretty hard when you passed out, Nik. Although Gabriel was all over you in a second, and so were the paramedics. Well, they were already there, working on that girl the TV fell on—’

‘That’s another thing,’ I said. ‘My name’s not Nik—’

Lulu’s mouth closed with a snap. Her eyes narrowed. And suddenly she was on her feet, her hands on my shoulders, shaking me, while ‘Cosy’ barked with alarm.

‘What have they done to you?’ Lulu shrieked. ‘Who was it? Who did this? Was it the Scientologists? I told you to stay away from those people!’

Being shaken — even though it was by a tiny girl who looked like a walking toothpick — was causing all the machines at the side of my bed to start beeping. Also, I can’t say it felt all that good.

‘Oh my God, Nik, it’s me, Lulu,’ the girl, who was now kneeling beside me on my bed, was screaming at me. ‘Your best friend! Your room-mate! Or loft-mate, because, you know, we never could share a bathroom, let alone a bedroom, because with your acid reflux, ew, but—’

‘What’s going on in here?’ demanded a shrill voice from the doorway.

And I turned my head to see a nurse staring at us in horror.

‘Get away from her!’ the nurse yelled. ‘Orderly! Orderly!’

And the next thing I knew, a shrieking Lulu was being yanked off me by a burly man in blue scrubs, while a nurse had grabbed the little white dog — who was snarling pretty ferociously for such a powder puff — and was carrying it out of my room while my mom and Dr Holcombe came rushing into it, both looking white-faced and concerned.

‘Nikki,’ Lulu screamed as they carried her off. ‘Don’t worry, Nikki! I’ll be back! I’ll get to the bottom of this, if it’s the last thing I do —’

Then a door slammed, and both she and the yapping dog were gone. The only sounds were the mad pings and pongs coming from the machines by the side of my bed.

‘Are you all right, honey?’ Mom asked me, her eyes wide with alarm.

‘I’m fine,’ I said as Dr Holcombe bent over me, checking his wires.

‘But what’s going on? Why did she think she knew me?’

‘We’re very sorry about that, Emerson,’ Dr Holcombe said. He’d succeeded in shutting off most of the alarms. Now there was just the steady ping-ping of my heart monitor. ‘The nurses are supposed to keep out non-family members… ’

‘But I don’t know Lulu Collins,’ I said. ‘Why did she think she knows me? Why was she calling me Nikki? Mom — what’s going on?’

‘Doctor,’ Mom said worriedly She was chewing on her lower lip, something she only did when she was seriously upset about something — like Dad not getting back to Manhattan in time for one of Frida’s clarinet recitals or my science fair. ‘Shouldn’t we—’

‘Absolutely not,’ Dr Holcombe said. He was messing around with a needle. ‘Emerson needs rest.’

‘But, Doctor—’

‘The best thing for her is to… ’

I didn’t hear the rest of their conversation. That’s because Dr Holcombe did something with the needle he’d been holding — even though I didn’t feel a thing — and the next thing I knew, I was dozing off again, way too sleepy to keep listening.

If I’d known that that sleep was the last truly restful one I was to have for a long, long time, I’d have tried to enjoy it more.