Embracing Rain

17 - Chance

1 7 - C H A N C E

I wake up the next morning with a pounding headache, a swollen throat, nausea, and a fever. But when I notice Noah splayed out on the couch next to me, the rush of happiness I feel is enough to numb the pain. At least, it's enough until I stand up and almost faint from the dizziness.

"Chance?" Noah murmurs sleepily from the couch. "Are you okay?"

I don't respond, more focused on not blacking out than I am about telling him I'm not feeling very well when he can almost definitely see that for himself. As my vision slowly clears, I hear his footsteps approaching and the feel his arm wrapping around my shoulder, holding me upright.

"You okay?" he repeats. I shake my head, and he puts one of his hands to my forehead. "You're feverish."

"Yippee," I mutter. "I'll make myself breakfast and go to back to bed then, I guess. You should go to school."

"I don't have school today," he says. "It's fine."

My brow furrows. "What do you mean you don't have school today?"

"My classmates and teachers have school. I don't."

I want to roll my eyes in protest but find it to be too much effort. "Whatever. Is toast okay for breakfast? I don't feel well enough to make anything else."

"What are you talking about?" Noah asks, a disapproving expression on his face. "You're not making anything. Go lie down. I'll bring you something."

"I'm going to the bathroom first, but fine."

"What do you want on your toast?" he calls from the kitchen as I stumble over to the bathroom, the ground swaying beneath my feet.

"Just butter," I call back, but I have to repeat myself because my voice cracks the first time and no sound comes out.

"Okay."

When I make my way back to the living room after using the bathroom, I find Noah sitting on the couch, munching on a slice of toast. On the coffee table is a plate with two slices for me. "Try to eat as much of that as you can," he tells me through a mouthful of his own food. "Also, where's your medicine? I'll go get some for you."

"Upstairs in the hall closet," I reply as I sit down and reach for one of the toasts. My hands shake as I pick it up, and I almost drop it on the floor. He nods.

"I'll be right back."

As I watch him walk up the stairs, I take a bite out of the corner of the bread, but as soon as I swallow, I immediately feel more nauseous, so I put it back on the plate and lie down.

Noah gives me a sympathetic look as he reenters the room. "Couldn't eat?" he asks.

"Nope. I'd rather eat nothing and throw up nothing than force myself to eat and throw it all up later."

"Yeah, that's understandable. Can you take this though?" He hands me a pill and a glass of water. "It should make you feel better and make you tired so you can fall back asleep."

"I guess so," I grumble.

"Hey, grumpy. What's wrong?"

"I hate being sick. This is your fault."

"So, you're the grumpy-when-sick type?" He smirks, ignoring my accusation. Which, if I think about it, is a sure sign that he's feeling much better about himself in general—he's not dwelling on it. At least, I don't think he is.

"Shut up," I mumble, scowling. I lie back down, pulling the blanket over my shoulders and knocking the pillow off the couch in the process. I'm too tired to get back up and reach for it, so I settle for glaring at it. Noah hands it back to me, barely trying to hide his laughter.