“Bob,” I tell the night-shift cameraman who’s filming me. “I’m going to throw up, I think.” Bob doesn’t say anything, just stands there with the handheld. I wish for Frank, with his hairy chest and comforting presence. Frank would help me. Frank would tell me it was going to be okay. Frank would not ignore me when I obviously have alcohol poisoning.

I muster up the strength to get out of bed and head to the bathroom. I make it there, barely, and throw up most of what I’ve had to eat that day, along with a clear spill of I don’t know what. When it’s done, I lean my head against the wall, wondering what would happen if I just fell asleep here. I must have dozed off a little bit, because the next thing I know, Drew is shaking me awake gently.

I force my eyes open, and his face comes slowly into focus. “Ally?” He looks worried, which instantly makes me scared. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t think so,” I tell him. “I think I might be dying. I think I have alcohol poisoning. We should probably call the ambulance.”

“How much did you have to drink tonight?”

“I dunno. Like four beers, I think.” I struggle to remember how much was in each cup, and how many times I had my cup refilled, but the memory of what happened earlier seems to be receding farther and farther away, and I can’t quite remember exactly what went on.

“You don’t have alcohol poisoning,” Drew says, smiling. “You’re just drunk. Can you make it back to your room?”

“Yes.” No.

Drew lifts me up from the floor and I wrap my arms around his neck. “You’re strong,” I tell him, admiring the way his arms bulge under the navy blue sweater he’s wearing. “It’s because you work out with Andrea. Every morning you go to see her.”

“Andrea?” He looks confused.

I sigh and lean my head against his shoulder and force my feet forward. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say as the room begins to sway. “I don’t think I can make it.”

“Okay,” Drew says simply, “do you want to sit down and rest for a minute?”

“I need to lie down,” I say. “I need to lie down!” I say again, more forcefully. If I don’t lie down, I’m going to die, I just know it. “If I don’t lie down, I’m going to die,” I explain.

“Can you make it to my room?” Drew asks.

“I think so,” I say, moving my legs toward the boys’ room, which is closer to the bathroom than mine. “Don’t let go of me.” I wrap my arms tighter around him.

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”