The Hating Game

A big laugh breaks out. People swap amused looks and two girls from HR elbow

each other.

“But—but then! He swings her around to protect her and takes paintballs in the back! Protecting her! It was quite something.”

Another fun fact: Marion reads romance novels in the kitchen at lunchtime. I catch Joshua’s eye, and he wipes his forehead roughly on his forearm.

“It seems paintball has brought us all together today,” I manage to say and everyone claps. If this were a TV episode, we’ve just reached the little moral conclusion: Stop hating each other. Helene is pleased; her lips are pursed in a knowing smile.

The Day Off Prize is awarded to Suzie, and she accepts her little mock certificate with a deep bow. Deborah has taken some good action shots on her camera and I ask her to email them to me for the staff newsletter.

Helene catches me by the elbow. “Remember, I’m not in on Monday. I’ll be meditating under a tree.”

Everyone heads down to the bus, and I’m gratified to see it’s now harder to tell who’s Gamin and who’s Bexley. Everyone looks like a train wreck; bedraggled clothes and red, sweaty brows. Most of the women have panda eye makeup. Despite the physical discomfort, there’s a new sense of camaraderie.

Helene and Mr. Bexley peel out again like Wacky Racers. A few people are being picked up by spouses, and there’s a confusing swirl of cars and dust. The bus driver puts down her newspaper at our approach and unlocks the door.

“Please hold on for a few minutes,” I tell her, and jog back inside. I make it to the bathroom and am violently sick. Before I can feel like it’s completely out of my system there’s a sharp rap on the bathroom door. There’s only one person I know who could knock so impatiently, and put so much irritation into it.

“Go away,” I tell him.

“It’s Joshua.”

“I know.” I flush again.

“You’re sick. I told you.” He jiggles the doorknob lightly.

“I’ll get home by myself. Go away.”

There’s a silence and I figure he’s gone back to the bus. I throw up again. Flush again. I wash my hands, leaning my legs against the sink until the splash-back soaks into my jeans. Elvis clings to me damply.

“I’m sick,” I confide to my reflection. I’m fevered, eyes glittering. I’m blue and gray and white. The door is creaked open, and I squawk in fright.

“Holy shit.” Joshua’s eyebrows pinch together. “You look bad.”

I can barely focus my eyes. The floor is spinning. “I can’t make it. That bus trip. I can’t.”

“I could call Helene. She could come back, she couldn’t have gotten far.”

“No, no, I’ll be okay. She’s driving to a health retreat. I can take care of myself.” He leans on the doorframe, his brow creased.

I steel myself, cupping a little cold water in my hand and slosh it over the back of my neck. My hair has been unraveling from its bun and sticks to my neck. I rinse my mouth. “Okay, I’m all right.”

As we walk back, he pinches the little joint of my elbow between two fingers like a bag of garbage. I can feel the avid eyes watching us from the tinted bus windows. I think of the two girls nudging each other and shake him loose.

“I could leave you here and drive back and get you, but it would take an hour, at least.”

“You? Come back and get me? I’d be here all night.”

“Hey. Don’t talk like that anymore, all right?” He’s annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah, HR.” I wobble up onto the bus.

“Oh dear,” Marion calls loudly. “Lucy, you’re looking awful.”

“Lucy!” Danny calls from the rear of the bus. “Saved you a seat!” He’s so far back in the bus it telescopes claustrophobically. If I sit back there I will absolutely vomit on everyone. Sorry, I mouth at Danny and sit in the front seat and close my eyes.

Joshua presses the back of his hand to my damp forehead and I hiss. “Your hand is cold.”