Illuminate by Aimee Agresti Page A

day. Those white lights that Lance had counted were reflected in the skylight, making the night sky appear even more star-studded. Of course, some of the stars may have been provided by my own jumbled and slippery consciousness. Everything around me had begun spinning before I left the club and bursts of light that I knew no one else was seeing twinkled in my periphery.
    Dante had nestled me into my bed, still in my party clothes, and flipped off the light, saying something that I heard only muffled, but that seemed to be a promise to check on me in the morning. My head was a lead weight crushing the pillow. Now that I was in bed, my body completely dropped its defenses. Everything ached. I was sweating torrents. My muscles felt like they were contracting and tearing, twisting like wet rags being wrung out. My stomach swam and lurched, a toxic pool threatening to rise up. But I was too drained to get up again so I just tried to imagine away the nausea. With my eyes closed I could still feel the rush of the spinning—it felt like I was being whipped around on that ride they had at the summer fair every year, the Scrambler. I let myself drift into sleep knowing I had to feel better on the other side of this.

6. It’ll Probably Be Just Hideous
    I didn’t know where I was when I woke up. I scanned the room and then slowly it came back to me: the Lexington. My body tested out movement, shifting, rolling to my side. Ow, everywhere, ow, but especially my head. I touched my fingers lightly to the spot near my right temple— ow again—it felt a little mushy, like a rotten banana. What was wrong with me? I retraced my steps: the room spinning, the club, Lucian and that drink—that drink! Was this my first hangover? Was it possible there was enough booze left in that drink to have done this to me? All of yesterday flooded back. I hadn’t called Joan, had I? How had I let that slip? Was it too early now?
    The bedside lamp was still on and it seemed blinding. The numbers of the clock looked my way, the hands pointing with rigid urgency. It had to be wrong, didn’t it? It was just 2:00 in the morning a second ago. I pulled it closer to me: it was, in fact, 7:45 a.m.
    I took the world’s fastest shower and didn’t even bother washing my hair. I threw on my nice gray pants and a sweater, ran to the elevator, rode up to the lobby, and sprinted to the ottoman that sat like a sundial below the skylight. My watch read 8:02. I was alone. I breathed a sigh.
    My body slunk onto the ottoman, shoring up strength for the day to come. I felt like I had been hooked to the back of a truck and dragged along the road. If I weren’t here, I would have stayed home from school—and I never did that. Sun streamed down from the skylight, all blue and cloudless above. I raised my face and closed my eyes, letting the sunlight warm me, and felt myself drifting for a moment. I really needed to call Joan. If I didn’t watch it, she’d be down here to check on me. I could see it now, her pulling up out front in the old Camry, strolling in, claiming she just happened to be in the neighborhood. I laughed to myself, which hurt my ribs, but the smile was still on my lips.
    As sick as I was last night, and unsettled as my footing was in this strange place, the past twenty-four hours were probably among the most exciting of my life. This is what I had needed—to spring from the comfortable and protective confines of home, even to stumble. And there would be more of that, I was pretty sure. A telltale swishing rustled in the distance, from the direction of the elevator bank. I opened my eyes. Aurelia in heels and an elegant sleeveless black wrap-dress sashayed toward me, arms strong and firm. I stood, hands folded behind my back, trying to look the part of the perfect employee.
    “Good morning, Ms. . . . Aurelia.” I caught myself.
    “Why, yes it is a good morning, isn’t it, Haven?” she said as she reached me, just a hint of a smile. Her light waves