"I don't feel good," JJ says, out of the blue. While in the blue.
It's Saturday, and he and John B have been surfing all morning. It's the first weekend of surfing season, and they'd been eager to get back out on the water. They always make a day of it. It's their tradition. Right now they're in the process of paddling back out to catch another wave.
"What?" John B asks, unsure if he heard correctly. He slows down, looks back.
JJ has stopped paddling. "All of a sudden," he says shakily. "I don't feel good." He has his right elbow propped on his board and he's holding his head with his hand.
John B's heart drops. "What's the matter?"
"Feel like m'gonna hurl…" JJ answers weakly. "C-Can you help me get to shore?"
John B doesn't hesitate, adrenaline kicking in because he can hear the urgency of the situation in JJ's voice. "Yeah, bro. 'Course." He slides into the water and wedges his board, parallel, beneath JJ's. "Lean your weight a little toward me, and I'll get you back," he instructs.
JJ does as he's told, and John B starts flutter kicking them both back to shore.
It's lumbering and tedious, but thankfully they hadn't been too far out. John B is breathing heavily by the time he reaches shallow-enough water where he can stand. "Almost there, man," he tells JJ through his panting breaths. "How're you doing? You able to get off and walk the rest of the way?"
JJ hasn't so much as lifted his head. "No…" he answers miserably. His breathing is labored, too, trying to stave off the nausea. It's to no avail.
He starts to heave, and, rather clumsily, slides off his board as an aggressive wave of vomit spills from his mouth.
"Whoa, okay, this is happening," John B says, trying not to sound too disgusted for JJ's sake. He lets go of the boards and half-catches JJ under the armpits to hold him upright above the water while he continues to get sick. "Okay, I got you."
Once JJ has his footing, John B reaches for the boards with one arm to keep them from floating too far away.
"Guh," JJ moans during a brief reprieve. He spits. "Shit. M'so sorry."
John B swallows back some gags of his own, trying to ignore the fact that they're quite literally swimming it. "It's okay, bro," he manages, still trying to wrap his head around how this happened so fast. "Think you can walk now?"
JJ just groans and shakes his head, clearly anticipating throwing up again. His stomach caves in deep and more bile splashes into the water.
"Jesus, Jay," John B sighs out of disbelief and sympathy. He's grateful for a hefty ocean wave crashing into their backs that clears out some of the sick.
JJ goes still after that, just frozen. Waiting.
"O-Okay," he says shakily, after a few beats. "I can… we can move."
It's not easy, having to steer their boards back to shore while also keeping a stabilizing hand behind JJ's back. But they make it.
When they reach solid land, John B first stands their boards up in the sand, then they both crash down on the beach.
"Sorry, John B…" JJ murmurs. He's flat on his back, arms curled around his middle. His eyes are closed. "And thanks."
"Sure," John B nods, looking his friend over critically. "You still feeling bad?"
"Mm," JJ affirms.
"Do you think it's the heat?" John B asks. "Or did you swallow a bunch of seawater or something? You seemed fine all morning."
"I don't know," JJ breathes. "M'stomach's fucking killing me."
John B winces. "Yeah, I kind of gathered that from the projectile spewing."
JJ doesn't say anything to that. Just swallows hard and breathes deeply through his nose.
John B bites down on his lip. "Take it easy for a bit," he tells JJ, reaching to put a comforting hand on his knee. "Let me know when you feel up to making moves toward the Twinkie."
JJ throws up again on the drive back to the Chateau. He'd been holding onto a plastic grocery bag just in case.
"Dang, you're really going through it, huh?" John B says, crinkling his nose as JJ drools and pants over the bag. He glances over at his friend before turning his attention back on the road.
"Yeah," JJ manages weakly. "Sorry."
"Quit apologizing, bro. It's fine."
"Ruined…" he takes a breath "…our tradition."
"Nah. Just cut it short a little bit."
JJ asks John B if he can bum a shower when they get back to Chateau. He's shivering something fierce and John B figures he just wants to warm up.
"Sure," John B tells him easily. "You need help?"
"No, I got it."
"'Kay. You can borrow some sweats to throw on after. I'll go grab them."
"Thanks, Bree."
While JJ is showering, John B shoots a text to the Pogue group chat. Pope and Kie were planning to meet him and JJ after lunch to join in on the surfing festivities. They'd both had some chores to do before their parents let them off the hook.
Hey, JJ got sick while we were surfing, he types. We're back at the Chateau.
Bummer, Pope sends back. Is he okay?
He's thrown up a few times. He's taking a shower right now.
Will he care if we come hang out later? Kie asks.
Nah, he won't care. I'm guessing he'll just want to sleep.
They send some thumbs up back, and John B re-pockets his phone.
Then he starts getting the bedroom ready. The bed is a mess; the covers are askew and bunched up from all of John B's flailing at night (his dad has been missing for five months, and
he still has nightmares). John B smooths out the covers and fluffs the pillows. He grabs the waste bin by his desk and puts it by the head of the bed. Then he heads to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water to put on the nightstand.
He returns to the main room and straightens up in there, too, just to give himself something to do. JJ still isn't out of the shower when he's finished with that, so he starts in on the kitchen.
At about the 25 minute mark, and still no sign of JJ, John B decides he should probably check on him.
"Yo, JJ, you okay in there?" he calls, knocking loudly on the door to the bathroom. He opens the door a crack and is surprised at the intensity of the heat and steam that greets him.
"Yeah, sorry. I'll get out…" JJ replies from behind the curtain.
John B hadn't meant to rush him. "Take your time, man. I was just making sure you hadn't passed out or something."
The water shuts off anyway.
"Dude, that felt like heaven," JJ says when he emerges.
John B had waited for him in the hallway while he got dressed. "Yeah?" he says. It does look like the shower brought him back to life a little. "I'm surprised the hot water lasted that long."
JJ winces. "Hope I didn't jack up your water bill," he says.
John B brushes that comment off. He doesn't care about the water bill if a hot shower is what it takes to help JJ feel better. He'll catch an extra shift at work if he has, too. "Don't worry about that, bro." He looks JJ over. "What are you thinking for next moves?"
"Is it okay if I crash here?" JJ asks.
"Yeah, 'course it is," John B tells him. JJ should know that John B wouldn't let him go home when he's sick. Hell, he doesn't even like letting him go home when he's healthy. "You can take the bedroom. Pope and Kie might be coming over."
"You guys aren't gonna go back out there?" JJ asks, frowning.
"Not without you, we aren't."
"You're gonna waste perfectly good waves just because I had to tap out?" JJ asks. "I can't have that on my conscience, bro."
"Well, I can't have ditching you while you're sick on my conscience, so." John B shrugs, then nudges JJ in the direction of the bedroom.
The rest of the day is rough.
JJ sleeps most of the rest of it away. That is, when he's not throwing up from the water his friends are diligent with pressing on him, every two hours or so. He keeps it down for about ten minutes, and then it's Game Over.
"Dang, poor JJ," Pope says, when Kie emerges from the bedroom to report that JJ hadn't kept this trial of water down, either. That's the fourth try and counting.
Pope and John B are playing video games, lounging on the couch while Kie had been watching on.
"He wants you to roll a blunt," Kie tells John B as she flops back into the armchair. "He thinks it'll help."
Pope frowns at that. "He shouldn't smoke when he's running on empty… should he?"
John B shrugs and pauses their game. "Weed is known to help nausea. Always helps me when I'm hungover… It's worth a shot, I guess."
"Share some with the group!" Kie calls after him as he grabs his stash stowed in one of the kitchen drawers and heads into the bedroom.
It does help. Enough that JJ is finally able to keep water down and some oyster crackers that John B found in the back of one of the kitchen cabinets. JJ even gets out of bed for a bit and joins his friends on the couch.
John B can tell his stomach still hurts, though, by the way JJ's arms are protectively curled around his abdomen. He's wrapped in a blanket, beads of sweat on his brow, but he isn't running a fever. John B checked.
For now, John B's just glad he's sitting upright without heaving his guts up.
Pope and Kie leave around ten, since JJ's doing better.
JJ asks if he can bum another shower.
JJ sleeps through the night, but wakes to some intense nausea.
John B finds him in the bathroom the following morning, trying his damnedest not to throw up again.
He never does, but he has to fight it like hell. Dry heaves, headaches, fetal position… the whole nine. John B sits with him through it all.
Another hot shower does the trick to get him off the floor.
JJ takes it slow the rest of the day, eating what he can tolerate when the nausea disappears. He smokes a few more blunts, determined to keep it that way.
Another hot shower and he finally seems back to himself.
They chalk it up to a 24-hour bug, figure that's the end of it.
…Turns out it was only just the beginning.