“Bitch, you think you can fuck my boyfriend and get away with it,” Meegan twists my hair.
I jab my fist into her boob, and she lets go with a shriek. Grasping my sore scalp, I spit back at her, “He’s not yours.”
That only incites her more, though, and next thing I know, she thrusts both hands at my shoulders. My feet can’t keep up with the momentum of my body. They make a wrong step. I fall back.
Right into the helix archway over the door. The structure rips apart. And the whole thing collapses over me.
38
Spencer
I see the moment Kennedy’s buried in balloons, and I curse myself for being a minute too late. For standing in that supply closet, stunned by what she’d said, what I’d said back, Meegan appearing when I’d been in the middle of reeling from a volatile mix of emotions. For being halfway down the hallway when Meegan pushes her, when Kennedy trips backwards.
I watch those balloons fall. Hear several pop when she lands. Feel my feet slam against the floor as I start running. Laughter from the crowd echoes in my ears, and my pulse hammers with each pounding footstep because they don’t know. They don’t fucking know.
I burst into the atrium, balloons scattering around me. I whack them out of my way, ignoring the crowd that gets an even bigger kick out of my panicked search.
A flash of auburn. I find Kennedy. Bat away more balloons to help her sit up. She tries to draw in a breath, but it’s more a wheeze. Hazel eyes glance up at me, round with worry, as she clutches her throat. She coughs, attempting another inhale. Already, pink bumps rise over every inch of exposed skin.
I look around for Hart. Or Stone. For anyone who might be able to help because in this fucking moment, I have no fucking clue what to do.
“Are you kidding me?” Meegan rolls her eyes. “What a fucking drama queen. Spencer, you might as well—”
I wheel on her, my shout rasping with rage and fear. “She’s allergic, you fucking idiot.”
The crowd’s laughing begins to die down, sensing something’s fucking wrong. That Kennedy’s taking too long to get up. That she’s struggling to breathe with all the latex around her. I need to get her away from them. From Meegan. So I scoop her into my arms, and when I stand, I see Levi and Rylie pushing through the crowd.
I nod outside and they follow me to the hallway. Down a little ways, I set Kennedy back on the floor, and she clings to my arm when I try to stand.
“Levi’s on crowd control,” Stone says, dropping to Kennedy’s other side. “And Gray’s calling an ambulance. He said he’ll wait outside for it. Natalie’s—”
“Here!” the voice calls from the atrium doorway. Hart lets Natalie through. When he turns back to the crowd to demand they give us space, a light head of curls ducks under his arm.
“Hey!” he calls after her, but the girl ignores him, hurrying over to us. The blond who’d caught us in the library.
She kneels down, taking Kennedy’s wrist and checking her pulse. Kennedy’s eyes drift shut, and the blond snaps her fingers. “Walsh—Walsh! Focus. Fuck!”
Walsh. There’s only one person who calls Kennedy that. This must be Summer Prescott, I realize when she looks around at each of us and asks, “Does she have an Epi-pen?”
“Yes,” I answer. “In her purse.”
“Well, where the fuck is her purse, Armstrong?”
Anger spikes in me—before I tell myself now’s not the fucking time. I need Kennedy’s bag. Snapping the band on my wrist, I think back, then remember where last I saw her with it. Then I’m sprinting to the supply room. Slamming open the door and instantly spotting her camera and the bag in question on a supply shelf. Where she left it, forgetting it in her haste to get away from me.
I grab both, and by the time I reach the small group of girls in the hallway, Kennedy leans back into Rylie, hyperventilating. There’s a stark, terrifying contrast in the paleness of her skin and the redness of her hives. I dig through the contents of her purse to pull out a set of two medical-looking devices in clear tubes, with mismatched blue and orange tips. Summer takes them from me.
“Wait,” Natalie says as the sorority girl removes one from its tube. “There’s a whole bunch of alumni in there. I’m sure there’s a doctor or two. Shouldn’t we try to find someone who’s trained to do this?”
“Probably,” Summer says. And then she pulls straight on the blue tip. Releases the injector into the middle of Kennedy’s thigh. She holds it there for a few seconds, then sets it down on the floor, out of the way, and massages the injection site.
Kennedy heaves a giant breath of air. Stone wraps her arms around her shoulders, holding her as she sobs with relief. Jealousy and helplessness bubble inside me. I want to push Stone away. To be the one to hold Kennedy. Reassure her, and myself, that it’s all right.
Sirens sound in the distance. Summer nods. “Good. Ambulance is on its way. Walsh, relax and lay on your back until they get here. Hopefully, you won’t need another inject—”
“No,” Kennedy says. She weakly pushes back when Rylie tries to get her to lay down, and glares at Summer. “You told her, Summer.”
“Told who—you mean Armstrong’s ex?” She points to the fundraiser. “Yeah, no, Walsh, I keep secrets, I don’t tell—”
“Bullshit,” Kennedy snaps. “You were mad because I found out your secret, so you went and told mine.”
All of us turn to the blond, who meets our stares head on. Just as I’m about to tell her to get lost, Natalie beats me to it when she steps in front of Kennedy and says with a determined stance, “You
