He caught me looking and winked at me.
I could feel the blood rushing to my face, and then, to add insult to injury, my stomach rumbled so loudly I half expected it to rock the bed.
“Hungry?” he asked with a smirk.
“I know it seems weird considering what I just ate, but I would kill for some Graeter’s ice cream.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a brand of ice cream from a company in Cincinnati, Ohio. I had a sorority sister from there and she introduced me to it. She would have it delivered for breakups.”
He stood up. “Your wish is my command.”
“I didn’t mean for you to . . .” I said, but he was already halfway out the door.
Then he stopped and his mischievous eyes twinkled at me. “You said it would never happen, but we just slept together.”
“We did not!” I grabbed one of my pillows and threw it at him, but he was already gone.
I took a shower, and it was nice to feel human again. I wondered how much of the previous day the cameras had captured. If they showed the audience that Dante had spent all day with me, it might look like he favored me over the others. Although, given the way editing worked, I could come out looking like a horrible person while Abigail seemed like the lovable heroine.
After I got dressed and dried my hair, I checked in on Genesis and Michelle. Michelle seemed fully recovered and was busy packing for her hometown date with Dante. Genesis, unfortunately, was still throwing up. She looked so miserable. “Every time I drink water, I get sick again.”
“Stop drinking for a while,” I told her. “Just sleep.” She nodded and closed her eyes. I pulled her blanket up to her shoulder and patted her. I wished I could do more.
On my way downstairs I passed by Abigail’s room. It was empty. “Abigail?” I called out. I knocked on her open door. “Hello?” No answer. I didn’t know where she was or how much time I had, but I was ready to play spy again.
Her room was immaculate. Like a maid had been in to clean it. Another thing to dislike about her.
I opened dresser drawers, rummaging through them. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I hoped I’d know it when I saw it. I looked under her bed, under the pillows, and in the nightstand drawers. Nothing.
Turning on the closet light, I rifled through her dresses, checked pockets, and looked inside her shoes. I might not find anything. If she were smart, she would have gotten rid of the evidence.
Fortunately, Abigail was not smart.
I stood up and looked at the closet shelves and saw a bag of potato chips. That woman had never willingly eaten a trans-fat, sodium-infested, greasy carb in her entire life. I grabbed the bag, and saw that it had already been opened. I fished around inside it, and felt a glass bottle.
I pulled it out triumphantly and read the label. Ipecac syrup.
A former sorority sister of mine, Charlotte, had been anorexic and bulimic. After she came back from rehab for her eating disorders, she asked me to come to her room and get rid of her stash of ipecac syrup. She didn’t have much of a gag reflex anymore, so the only way she could throw up was from the syrup. And it helped her to keep her eating and drinking in check, because once you’d ingested it, any other food or water would keep you throwing up.
No wonder Genesis hadn’t gotten over it yet.
I ran back into her room and woke her up. “Genesis, do not eat or drink anything else. You will get better.”
Groggily she said, “Okay.”
“I’ll come back and check on you later. It may take me a while because I have to finish killing Abigail first.”
She was already back to sleep. I took the water bottles near her bed and carried them down to the kitchen in case she didn’t remember our conversation.
I couldn’t believe Abigail had done this. She must have grabbed the ipecac when we went upstairs to change, and had kept it on her all night, pretending to be our friend and making us shakes. She had been waiting and planning, wanting that last-chance date with Prince Dante, and was willing to make us all suffer so she could get it.
What kind of evil, sadistic person would do that?
I might actually inflict bodily harm on that woman. I was madder than a pack mule with a mouthful of bees. The vein in my forehead started throbbing, and my nails bit into my palms. I was shaking from the anger.