Part 28 (1/2)
I crouched beside her.
”Dixie? You okay?”
”Do I look okay?” she asked, putting a b.l.o.o.d.y hand up. ”I think you broke my dose!”
”Dose? Oh! Nose. I'm sure it's not broken. Injuries in the area of the head tend to bleed more,” I parroted Patrick's earlier head-wound factoid.
”I feel so much better.”
”Oh, my G.o.d! Dixie! Darling! Are you all right? What happened?” Frankie stood over his down-for-the-count beloved.
”She happened,” Dixie pointed the b.l.o.o.d.y finger of blame in my direction. ”That...that...psycho spiker caught me with her elbow.”
I looked up at Frankie.
”It was an accident! It could happen to anybody! Frankie. Frankie?”
Faster than a fainting goat, and in less time than it took for Dixie to drop, Frankie keeled over.
”Frankie?” I crawled over to my cousin. Eyes closed, deathly pale and eerily still, Frankie looked like he was ready to have final rites said over him and be sucked out the air lock into deep, dark s.p.a.ce.
”Don't worry about him. He always dakes a swan dive when dere's blood involved,” Dixie said.
I shook my head. An aspiring crime scene a.n.a.lyst who pa.s.sed out at the sight of blood? Dexter would be appalled.
”I thought Frankie only did that when it was his blood.”
”It depends on the day,” Dixie said.
I put a hand on Frankie's cheek. His eyes fluttered open.
”You gonna be okay, cous?” I asked.
He looked up at me.
”What happened?”
”You fainted, dude. Pa.s.sed out. Hit the deck. Down for the count. Had a case of the vapors. Swooned.”
”He gets it!” Dixie snapped.
I helped Frankie to a sitting position.
”Feeling better?” I asked.
He nodded.
”A lot of people can't stand the sight of blood,” I said, and patted his hand. ”It's no biggie.”
”Blood? What are you talking about? I didn't faint because of the blood. No. No. It was the heat. That's it. The heat. I didn't hydrate like I should. Plus, I haven't eaten since noon. You know how I get when I skip meals.”
I raised an eyebrow. Methinks thou dost protesteth too mucheth.
I turned back to Dixie. Taylor had an arm around Dixie's shoulder's and a wad of tissues against her nose.
”Keelie and Kompany are gonna be out for your blood next. You dook out dere Red Queen.” Dixie sounded like the wad of tissues was stuck up her nostrils.
I glanced over at the opposing team. Reality Roadshow team members formed a circle around their downed leader.
”I spiked the ball. That's all.”
”Oh, doat even. I saw your face. You wanted to make her eat dat ball. 'dmit it.”
”I beg to differ. I received a picture-perfect set shot from my sis here, and I executed a textbook spike. That's it. Taylor deserves the lion's share of the credit.”
”Don't try to foist the blame for this on me, sis. Dixie's right. You wanted to make her eat that ball.”
I stood.
”Hey. Wait a minute, missy,” I said. ”You're the one who wanted me to-what was that you said again? Oh, yes. 'Beat that b.i.a.t.c.h like a dirty saddle blanket.' And, if memory serves, it was you who insisted we accept this stupid volleyball challenge in the first place. Sounds like you're the one who has a problem with the Red Queen, not me.”
Taylor got to her feet. ”Well, forgive me for standing up for our home state,” Taylor said.
”Home state? Get real, Taylor. This is all about you having the hots for Trooper P.D. Dawkins and wanting Keelie Keller to keep her Tinsel Town talons sheathed.”
Taylor's face went from angry red to OMG white. Her gaze slid across the net. Mine followed.
Reality Red's real time cameras had s.h.i.+fted their focus from the wounded warrior queen to the squabbling, finger-pointing siblings across the way.
”Upload it!” That's how long it would take before the cyber world inhabitants discovered Taylor Turner had a thing for State Patrol Officer P. D. Dawkins.
”Oops!” I said.
”Oops? Oops! That's all you've got to say?” Taylor stared at me, her expression a curious blend of horror, embarra.s.sment, anger, and, I discovered with a sudden tightness in my throat, hurt. ”How could you, Tressa? How could you?”
How could I? How could I not? I wasn't equipped for keeping secrets. It wasn't part of my DNA makeup. Was it my fault my particular gene pool was overpopulated with the blabbermouth gene?
”I'm sorry, Taylor. It just...popped out.”
”Just popped out? Really, Tressa? Seriously?”
I shook my head.
”How long have you known me? And how long have I suffered from regular bouts of diarrhea of the mouth?” I asked. ”Don't act like this occasion is so special, that you're so special. I don't discriminate. I'm an equal-opportunity-blurter.”
”When are you going to stop blaming biology and start accepting responsibility for your actions, Tressa?” Taylor asked.
”I'm sorry I'm not perfect, like you, Taylor. The perfect baby. The perfect toddler. The perfect student. Perfect health. Perfect skin. Even your hair is perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Do you know how annoying your 'practically perfect in every way' gene pool is to the rest of us faulty and flawed specimens? Getting up early on a Sunday morning annoying. That's how annoying.”
Taylor took a step back as if I'd hauled off and slapped her one. Creases marred her perfectly smooth forehead.