TROUBLE MAGNET - Completed

Chapter 2 - Clueless

Chapter 2 - Clueless

Though I still have my forehead glued to the pavement, I can tell that Frick and Frack are writing up a full report and I figure that can't be good. I wish I could just stand up and walk away, but I can't. I'm still nauseous and my whole body is still shaking uncontrollably. I can hear Trace arguing with them. He sounds very angry and totally frustrated.

He finally gives up and comes back to stand by me. He must notice that I am shivering, because he takes off his sweatshirt and hands it to me and tells me to put it on. I find it funny that I have the coordination to play ice hockey and yet right now, no matter how hard I try, I can't get his stupid sweatshirt to go over my big fat head. Instead, I end up tangled in it. To add to my embarrassment I hear Trace sigh and I know his frustration is now directed at me.

"Here let me help you," he snaps, taking his sweatshirt back. Surprisingly he's gentle when he places it over my head. He pulls each of my arms through the sleeves one at a time.

His sweatshirt is soft and warm and smells absofrickenlutely great. It smells a little spicy and woodsy mixed together. "Thanks," I whisper. I'm not sure why I'm whispering. I just know that I don't want to draw Frick and Frack's attention.

His hand brushes mine and he must feel how cold I am because suddenly he's angry with me again. "Holy Hell Karissa - you're freezing!"

He takes my hands in his and tries to rub some warmth back into them. Though I appreciate his gesture, I have to pull away. All the movement has reactivated the spinning ride and I'm back on all fours with the dry heaves. As I lay on the pavement, I silently barter with God. "Please lord, if you take away this dreadful nausea, I will do anything.. I try to come up with the worst possible things I'd be willing to do. I would hug a porcupine.. Okay that might be a little too painful. I would clean all the dirty underwear in a senior's home.. ooh gross, but yeah I would do that.

When the latest round of nausea finally passes, I open my eyes and notice a bright light that's flashing from white to red. It puzzles me until I hear more voices and realize to my horror that paramedics have now arrived. Oh no! Please no. This cannot be happening. I try to tell whoever will listen that I'm fine and that I don't want to go to the hospital. "I'm not even slurring any more, see: Betty Botter bought some butter." They don't care what I want though and before I know it, they're placing me onto a stretcher and preparing to load me into an ambulance. Yes, unfreakingbelievably this day can get worse.

I look around for Trace. He looks like he wants to melt into the background and disappear. Alex is nowhere to be found and I do not want to go to the hospital alone. My voice breaks as I ask one of the paramedics if Trace can come with me in the ambulance. The paramedic must see how desperate I am because he motions for Trace to follow. I watch Trace and it scares me when I realize that he doesn't want to come. I plead with my eyes. I see him shake his head and run his fingers through his dark hair. He takes a big breath and just when I think he's going to walk away, he turns and I hear him mutter, "Where the hell is Alex?"

They load me into the ambulance and I see Trace standing just outside the back door, still hoping for a miracle. He's not going to come with me. I just know it. He's frantically looking about. I know he's looking for Alex, still hoping she'll show up in time to save him. I watch him take a step backwards. He looks over at me with sad eyes, as if to say sorry and then suddenly his expression changes. His eyes close and I see him shake his head as he takes a big breath and when his eyes reopen he no longer looks panicky. Instead he half smiles at me and says, "Don't cry Karissa, I won't leave you." He winks at me as he climbs up into the ambulance.

I didn't even realize I was crying. The relief is instant. Just knowing that I won't be alone makes me feel so much better. Even so, I still wish I could be anywhere but here. But at least Trace is coming with me and I'm so grateful that the tears just keep coming. The paramedic indicates a seat for Trace to sit in. The door closes and the ambulance immediately begins to move. I wipe at my eyes and try to will the tears and the nausea away.

After a couple of minutes I feel Trace take my hand in his and when I look into his grass-green eyes, he smiles and makes a shrugging motion with his shoulders as if to say, 'Everything will be fine.' His hand is oozing warmth and I cling to it as if it were a lifeline.

"Bet you never thought you'd be doing this tonight," I say wiping away more tears.

He just smiles and shakes his head once more.

The paramedic has a clipboard in his hand and he's making notes. "Karissa I need to get some information from you," he states sternly. "First, what did you drink tonight?"

My answer is quick, "I have no clue," I tell him because I really don't. I arrived at the hockey party and immediately a drink was placed in my hand. I have no idea what was in that drink, but I had to drink it because they were making a toast to me. To 'The Rookie' they all chanted as they drank from their cups. What could I do? That toast was followed up by another and then another and everyone was having so much fun, I couldn't say no. How could I say no? I wish I could blame someone else but no one held a gun to my head. I drank the disgusting drinks, though I really should have made sure I had something to eat first.

The paramedic looks at Trace and asks him the same question, "Do you know what she drank?"

Trace lets go of my hand and raises both palms in the air as he answers, "Don't look at me. I have no clue."

I figure that Trace is probably trying to stay out of trouble and he probably doesn't want to get anyone else in trouble either. Truthfully though, he probably has a better idea of what I drank than I do.

The paramedic then asks, "If you don't know what you were drinking, at least tell me how many drinks you drank?"

I lost count after the fourth or was it the fifth drink. Some of the drinks were just shots and some were cups filled with some sort of pop and alcohol. I try to explain this to the paramedic. He doesn't look too impressed. Finally I say, "I have no clue." And that's when it hits me that I am clueless. I am a clueless, drunken, walking dead girl. I may not be dead yet, but I will be as soon as my parents find out.