My mom’s face contorted a little. “They said she got sick while driving. Lost control of the wheel. They found vomit in her car and the school said she had called in sick today.” My heart thumped harder against my chest. I thought of Ryan and all of the other people who seemed to be sick, like Jolene. “I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she said. She went to sit closer to me on my bed and I waved her away. “I need to call Ryan back, real quick,” I said. She kissed the top of my head, more awkwardly than lovingly, and left my room. I dialed Ryan’s number and he answered on the second ring. “What did your mom need?” he asked. I swallowed hard, my chest hurting for a bit after. “Mrs. Howard passed away this morning.” I said. There was silence on the other end. “How?” I tried not to picture her losing control of the wheel, but it was hard not to. “They think she got sick while driving and lost control of the wheel.” “Sick?” “They found vomit in her vehicle.” Again, more silence.
“Did you hear about Jason?” he asked finally. “Wells?” “He’s dead too.” Jason had called in sick all week. We thought he had pneumonia, like he did when we were in eighth grade. “I guess his stomach bug was a lot worse than they thought,” Ryan said, coughing a little. “Please tell me you’re feeling better,” I said, and he laughed. “I am, I promise. It’s now mostly just a cough and a little stomach ache.” “What about the scratches?” I asked. The woman’s face flashed in my mind, and I cringed. Her rotting smile still haunts me. “They’re doing better, too.” Relief rushed to me. We talked for a few more minutes, but he said something was going on outside and he had to go. I didn’t question him about it, though. Maybe I should have.
Ryan wasn’t feeling much better, but he was tired of being locked up in his room, so we decided to get coffee downtown a couple of days later. I was worried that he wasn’t feeling better, but I thought if he felt well enough to leave the house, I should be thankful. I still didn’t say anything about seeing the woman twice while at his house. I didn’t really think he’d believe me. It was a quiet afternoon to say the least. We didn’t talk much. He just stared into his coffee absentmindedly as I played games on my phone until it died. It was not an awkward silence, though, because silence with Ryan was never really silence at all.
As we walked down the street the coffee shop was on, his nose started bleeding, one drop then two until a full stream came out.
He kept coughing into a tissue and when he pulled it away, it was stained with blood. Suddenly, he collapsed to the floor, convulsing. Vomit spewed from his mouth. I dropped down next to him, although I was unsure of what to do. I screamed for help and a group of people in front of us turned around. They stared at us in horror, some were stationary, and others took pictures. One woman pulled out a handkerchief and covered her face. “Call 911 please!” I begged, remembering the dead phone in my pocket, but after they were done staring, they took off running. Occasionally they’d look back at us but they never turned around to help. A woman stepped out of the boutique we were in front of, but the second she noticed Ryan’s bloody face and the vomit on the floor, she covered her mouth and nose and ran in the opposite direction.