EVERYONE

"Dylan's been gone a long time," Claire worried. "You think something's wrong?"

"Nah." Kristen shrugged. "She probably has a stomach-ache from that stupid South Beach Diet she's trying." She glared at Alicia.

"What?"

"You're the one who convinced her she was fat," Kristen scowled.

Alicia at least had the grace to look slightly embarassed.

"I'm gonna go check on her," Massie announced, getting to her feet. "You can come with. Or nawt." Trailed by Claire, she made her way to the bathroom. She knocked on the door. "Dyl?" No answer. "Dyl?" No answer. "Dyl?" Nothing. She tried to open the door, but it was locked. "Kris!" she hollered.

"What?" The blonde showed up next to them.

"I need you to force the door."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Kristen sighed, took a deep breath, turned sideways, and rammed it with her shoulder. Although the door was pretty, the wood was nawt made to withstand this kind of pressure. It fell in, and Massie turned the knob, keeping her eyes covered just in case her friend was taking an exceptionally long poop.

"Um, Mass?" Claire's panicky voice made her fling her hands away and look up.

"Ehmagawd." There was Dylan. She was on her back, lying in a pool of vomit and blood, unconcious.


*MASSIE'S POV*

I scream, a gurgly sort of thing that burns my throat. Then I begin hyperventilating. "Ehmagawd, Dyl?" I choke out. I feel my friends' hands on my shoulders, but I don't acknowledge them. "Dylan?"

"We need to call 911," Claire says authoratatively, already whipping out her phone.

"Wait!" I slam my hand over the device. "They're going to want to know what happened. What do we tell them?"

"That we don't know?" Claire suggests, beginning to dial.

"How 'bout we tell them that she's bulimic?" Kristen proposes.

"Huh?" I'm down on my knees, stroking Dylan's bright red hair off her sweaty forehead. "No she's nawt. She's sick."

Kristen wordlessly points to the toilet bowl, which is overflowing with an acidic substance that may or may nawt be puke. "Bulimic."

"No way. Dylan?"

"It makes sense," Claire points out. "Even the best diet couldn't make her lose this many pounds in one month. She's nawt even thin. She's, like, diminished."

I start crying again. "You're all wrong," I manage, but Claire flaps her hand around in my face to get me to shut up.

"Yes, we need an ambulance for my friend, Dylan Marvil... Yes, the Dylan Marvil..." She rolls her eyes. "It's possible she's bulimic... This can nawt get out to the press... At, uh..." She presses her hand over the speaker. "Where are we, guys? What's Leesh's address?"

"1886 Lakeland Boulevard," I tell her.

"1886 Lakeland Boulevard," Claire repeats into the phone. "Uh-huh... Yes, passed out on the floor... Yes... Thank you." With a small smile, she pulls the device away from her ear and slides it into her back pocket. "They'll be here in five," she informs us.


*ALICIA'S POV*

And they said Dylan was taking a long time. They've been gone for at least 30 minutes, and I'm getting bored x10 of sitting around waiting for them.

With a groan, I hoist myself to my feet and stroll along the familiar path to the bathroom. I find Massie, Kristen, and Claire in a huddle outside the door. "What's up?"

"Dylan." Massie struggles to get the word out.

"What about Dylan?" I ask. My chocolate-brown eyes widen.

"The ambulance is coming," Kristen says.

"What am I missing?" I demand.

"Dylan," Claire tells me in way of explanation. "She's... look." She opens the door and points. I follow her finger. Dylan. Our favorite redheaded firecracker, on the floor, seemingly dead.


*KRISTEN'S POV*

This can't be happening. My mom's made me take thousands of CPR and First Aid classes, but I doubt they're going to help here. And even if they would, I really don't want to get my hand-knit Juicy Couture top dirty. No offense.

My thoughts are interrupted by the roaring of a siren outside. I run with the others to the front door and fling it open. Massie waves her arms dramatically, and two paramedics head toward us. Most men will at least take a second to run their eyes down Massie Block and Alicia Rivera, examining their chests, curves, and beauty, but these ones don't even seem to care. "What's the emergency?" they demand.

Claire tells them, accepting comments from Alicia here and there.

They barge past us and follow Alicia toward the bathroom. She opens the door as the EMTs snap on plastic gloves. They scoop Dylan onto a gurney and practically run back outside to load her into the vehicle. "Thank you," they say in sync with gruff nods as they climb in.

"Wait!" Massie exclaims. "Can we ride with her?"

"Yeah," I echo. "Imagine how scared she'll be if, uh, when she wakes up and she finds herself in a strange place with equally strange people and-" I don't even realize I'm blabbing until one man cuts me off.

"Sure you can," he agrees. "But two of you only."

I look around gingerly.

"Please, mister," Massie begs. "We're her best friends."

He only hesitates for a second before shaking his head. "Sorry. The other two can ride behind us and then apply to see her when we get to the hospital. But only two in the ambulance."

"I'll drive," Alicia offers, tossing the keys to her Lamborghini into the air, then catching them. "Come on, Kuh-laire."

"What if I want to go with her?" she protests.

"Uh-uh." Massie shakes her head. "First of all, I'm her Alpha. I'm going. And Kuh-laire, you don't know her as well as we do. You don't need to go."

"Fine," she mutters, and stalks awf after Alicia.


*CLAIRE'S POV*

First of all, I'm kind of pissed at Massie. Honestly, I knew Dylan better than any of them. We'd eat together, study together, chat for hours on the phone. I had my first sip of alcohol with her, for Gawd's sake. It was at her older sister Ryan's college graduation party. She'd come back to Westchester to celebrate her finishing four years at Yale, and Merri-Lee had gone all out. Dylan got to invite one friend, and she asked me, then convinced me to try some wine. So I did.

And now she was gone, possibly permanently. And to think I didn't recognize the signs. My own mother had gone through a period of bulimia once. I should know the symptoms when I see them, when I'm face-to-face with them almost every day. And yet I had no clue.


*DYLAN'S POV*

This isn't my room. My One Direction posters aren't here. Why aren't they here? And my room is painted sea-green. Why is this one white? Why is it so white? Everywhere I look, white. Where am I?

My eyes won't focus, and my head won't stop pounding. And now something is pricking my arm, and I'm falling, falling...

Sleep. I need to sleep. My eyelids are heavier than I used to be. I just need to sink down into these soft covers and sleep...

Why can't I sleep? What's wrong with me? Am I sick? Why can't I go to sleep? I need to sleep. Sleep is good. Why can't I fall asleep? Is there something wrong with me? Why can't I sleep? Why can't I...