THE BEGINNING - Four months before Isabella’s confrontation with Natasha  

Armed with good looks and a wicked grin, Dion slipped off his letter sweater and tossed it over the back of a chair, exposing the star quarterback’s powerful arm muscles. Admiration mixed with envy assaulted his male classmates’ brains. The girls' imaginations traveled a lustier path. Unaware of the disruption his physique caused among his peers, Dion turned to the task at hand.  

His eyes scanned the room, scrutinizing each classmate before they locked on his choice. Satisfied, he spoke, “I choose Gabby as my lab partner.”   

Gabby tried to ignore the mention of her name, pretending to be engrossed in studying her biology book. Muffled laughs and awkward taunts filtered throughout the room. A stray foot nudged her desk harder than intended, sending a stack of books crashing. Laughter exploded in the classroom.  

Humiliated, Gabby jerked to attention. Her eyes filled with panic. At the sight of a worm dangling precariously from Dion’s fingers, the contents of her stomach revolted, and the nasty taste of bile surged into her throat and then retreated. Her soft brown eyes darted toward Mr. Wilson, the biology teacher, pleading for a reprieve.  

Mr. Wilson taped his pointer against the chalkboard and waited for the class to settle down. Then, turning his attention toward his petrified student, he calmly asked, “Gabby, I believe Dion has chosen you as his lab partner. Please join the group.”  

A wave of adrenaline rushed through Gabby's veins, raising her body temperature. Her burning cheeks turned a brilliant pink. Flushed, she stammered, “Umm, I’m not ready yet.”  

“By your reaction, I believe you are as ready as you will get, Gabby." The biology teacher paused, but when Gabby didn't move, he added, "Come join Dion.”  

Swallowing hard, Gabby’s eyes darted from her teacher to Dion, and then to the dreaded worm. She pushed herself to a standing position, but her new red Converse tennis shoes refused to propel her toward the group. An acidic slime coated her throat again, dangerously suggesting it was about to spew out of her mouth. Mortified, she muttered, “I’m sorry,” before clamping her hands across her stomach and racing toward the door and down the hall.  

Seated across the aisle from Gabby's desk, Becky grabbed their backpacks and followed Gabby’s footsteps, yelling over her shoulder, “I’ll check on her, Mr. Wilson."  

**************  

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.” Squeezing past Becky, another teenage girl tossed her long, coal-black hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. Mimicking a gag, she added, “Some chick’s having a bad morning.”  

Becky shrugged her shoulders. “I know. She’s my friend.”  

Inside the bathroom, Gabby cupped her hands together under the faucet. Repeatedly, she tossed the cold water against her cheeks. She lifted her head, stared into the mirror, and moaned. “Great! I not only embarrassed myself in front of the entire biology class, but Rocket the Racoon looks better than me." Blotches of smeared mascara covered her pale face. 

Becky pulled a paper towel from the machine and handed it to her friend. “Here, wipe your face.”  

Gabby reached for the towel and then grabbed her stomach, moaning, “Oh God, not again.” She stumbled into the open stall. Straddling the basin, Gabby wretched and wretched, spewing sticky chunks of beef, potatoes, and carrots into the murky water.   

Her gruesome sounds forced Becky to move closer to the exit door. Her stomach churned, threatening to follow suit. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, praying for the vomiting to stop.

After a minute or two of silence, Becky called out, “You okay, Gabby? Should I go get the nurse?”  

A distraught Gabby leaned against the stall door, sniveling. Once assured the disgusting battle within her stomach was over, she returned to the sink and splashed cool water on her face.   

Concerned, Becky touched Gabby's shoulder. “You didn’t answer me. Do you need the nurse?”  

Between splashes, Gabby mumbled, “I already saw her at the beginning of the second hour.”  

“And she didn’t send you home?”  

“She tried, but I said it was probably the leftover soup I ate for breakfast.”  

“Leftover soup? What’s wrong with you, girl? Who eats soup for breakfast?”    

“Excuse me, Miss High Society! Unlike your house, we don’t have someone to do our cleaning and shopping.”  

“You don’t have to get sarcastic. What does our household staff have to do with you eating leftover soup?”  

“Everything! We were out of milk, so I couldn’t eat cereal. The loaf of bread had green specks on it. We had soup for dinner last night and it was good. I was hungry, so I ate it for breakfast too.”  

Becky wrinkled her nose. “Did you get sick after eating it last night?” 

“No, of course not!" 

“Then why would it make you sick today?”  

“I don’t know. Maybe my idiot brother left it out on the counter.”   

“Ew! And you ate it?”   

"Cut the inquisition, Beck! I was hungry and I ate it. Too late now to moan and groan.” As if on cue, she grabbed her stomach and raced back into the stall, spewing brown liquid dotted with tiny bits of undefinable particles into the toilet bowl.    

Becky covered her ears. “Oh God, Gabby, stop! My stomach’s doing flip-flops.”   

Exiting the stall, Gabby glared at her friend. “I’m not exactly doing this for pleasure, you know."

“I’m sorry.” She wrapped her arm around her friend’s sagging shoulders. “Let’s go to the nurse. We’ll get an excuse and I’ll take you home.”  

“No!" Gabby'a voice was sharp, but quickly returned to a normal tone.  "My dad’s working from home today. We can't go there.”  She pulled away from her friend. "You know how he gets."

“Unfortunately, I do.” Becky filled her cheeks with air and then slowly expelled it. “Well, you either stay here or we find somewhere else to go. Class is almost over, and this place will be a beehive of busybodies.”   

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ve had more than my share of humiliation.”   

“I’ll text Nat. Maybe she’ll join us, and we can camp out at her grandmother’s house for the afternoon.” 

******************************** 

Tucked in a fetal position, Gabby pulled a blanket over her body, groaning, “Are you sure no one is home?” 

An exasperated sigh crossed Natasha’s lips. “Really? We go through this every time we cut classes. Mom’s at work. Tate’s in school and has football practice later. Besides, neither of them comes here unless they want something from my grandmother.” 

Not convinced, Gabby lifted her head from the pillow, annoying her friend by asking another question. “What about your grandmother? She could be asleep, and you don’t know it.” 

"She’s not. For one, her television isn’t blaring, making the windows rattle. Second, it’s Tuesday, so she’s playing cards at the senior center with the other old biddies.” 

“Can you just check? I’d feel better.”  

“You’re a pain in my—” 

“Ease up, Nat. She’s not feeling well. I’ll go check.” Becky’s footsteps echoed down the hall and the steps, and later, back up the stairs. Her voice chimed, “It’s clear downstairs. Checking Isabella’s room now.” Moments later, she returned to the spare bedroom, known as Nat’s hideout, and announced, “Nobody here but us and the mice.”  

Still irritated, Nat sneered, “Satisfied?”  

A meek “thank you” rolled off Gabby’s lips, and she buried her head into one of the oversized pillows. 

Becky handed a Coke to Nat. “I took them out of the refrigerator on the back porch, just in case your grandmother knows how many are in the kitchen fridge.” She turned to Gabby. “Brought you a 7-up, if you want it.”   

A shake of her head was Gabby’s only response.  

Settling into an oversized bean bag, Becky was ready to relax. “Let’s put on some music, Nat. We need to liven this place up.” She reached for her friend’s cell phone but lost it to Nat’s quicker move. 

“We aren’t listening to that freakin’ country bull crap you’ve always got going. I’m not sure you even know what good music is.” Scanning her playlist, Nat chose one of her favorites. A Nervana song with crashing cymbals and high-pitched squealing guitars vibrated every inch of the room.

“Give me a break, Nat." Becky uncovered her ears, shouting, "Play something we’ll all like. Something we can talk over without having to scream.” 

Rolling her eyes upward, Nat sighed and chose 'Shake It Off' by Taylor Swift. “Is that better?"

Becky nodded. “Yeah, a song all about you." She laughed and shook her head, bobbing to the rhythm of the song. "My eardrums thank you.”

Another muffled "thank you" came from Gabby’s pillow.

“Come on, Gabby. Are you just going to bury your head in that pillow all day, or are you going to join us?” 

Two feet emerged from under the blanket, followed by the rest of Gabby’s body. “Fine, but if I puke again, it’s on you.” 

“You won't. Besides, you gotta be better by Saturday.”  

Gabby shot Nat a disinterested look, but still asked, “Why? What’s Saturday?”  

“We’re going dress shopping, nerd. How could you forget something so important as our dresses for the dance?” 

Gabby nibbled at her lower lip before answering, “I’m not going." She hesitated and flippantly added, "I might be dead by then.” 

“It’s food poisoning, goofball. You aren’t going to die. But Nat — I didn’t think you had enough money yet." 

“Got it covered.” Smiling like a Cheshire cat, Nat pulled a plastic container from under the bed and rummaged through it before tossing a prescription bottle across the room to Becky.  

Becky’s eyes widened as she read the label. “Nat, these are your grandmother’s pills.”