Head. Pounding. Not a normal headache, but a weird, heavy feeling that makes my body feel like a fuzzy brick. My eyes are crusted over, and my mouth is so dry, it hurts. I think I might be dead. The clock on the nightstand says 2:07 p.m. But that can’t be right, because my clock doesn’t show a.m. or p.m., it just has . . . that is not my clock. Oh my God. I’ve been kidnapped. Someone has kidnapped me! Someone has drugged me, slipped something into my drink, and TAKEN ME TO AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION. I move my arms experimentally to see if I’ve been tied up or restrained in any way.

It all comes rushing back to me. The party. Throwing up. Falling asleep in the bathroom. Drew coming in to help me. Pulling him down onto the bed with me. Pulling him down onto the bed with me. I turn over slowly. Please don’t be next to me, please don’t be next to me, please don’t be—he’s gone. I’m alone.

My eyes fall on my clothes in a pile on the floor where I threw them last night. I look under the cover curiously, wondering if I’m dressed. Fully clothed. In Drew’s stuff. Better than being naked, I suppose.

Frank the cameraman enters the room and starts filming, obviously alerted to the fact that I’m awake by the production staff who is monitoring my every move on the overhead cameras. Now he shows up. Where was he last night when I was busy almost dying and making a fool of myself? Typical.

I spring out of Drew’s bed quickly, hoping to minimize the amount of tape available that shows me in it. I need a shower and a drink. A nonalcoholic drink. And I need to get out of these clothes. I pour myself a huge glass of orange juice in the kitchen, and am on my way back to my own room to grab some clothes and shower stuff when the phone rings. It’s Kelly.

“So you’re finally awake, eh, party girl? I’ve been trying you all morning.” All morning?

“Barely,” I say, collapsing into the chair in the phone alcove and sipping my juice. I stop myself from chugging the whole glass, realizing this may not be a good idea, since my stomach is still probably a little sketchy. “Don’t ever let me drink like that again.”

“Drink like what?” Kelly asks, laughing. “You had, like, three beers or something. We couldn’t believe you were so out of it.”