My asthma was kicking up, and I was using my inhaler when the phone rang. It was Ivy, screaming and crying. I thought something was wrong with my phone or maybe my ears because I couldn’t understand a word she was saying, she was so out of control—I mean, hysterical.
“I’m at Shadyside General.”
I finally understood. “The hospital?” I said. “Why? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. I’m ruined, Jeremy. I’m in horrible pain. My head—it’s burning. I—I—She tried to kill me.”
I pressed the phone to my ear. I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. Ivy didn’t sound like herself. I actually thought it might be a joke. We’ve all been playing jokes on each other, and I just couldn’t imagine what she was screaming about.
“Please . . . take a breath,” I pleaded. “I can’t understand. What happened? Tell me. Who tried to . . . kill you?”
“I’m totally bald!” she screamed. “My hair—it’s gone. Do you understand that? I’m bald, and I have burns all over my scalp and hands.”
I swallowed. My mouth was suddenly dry. “But—why? How?”
“The police . . . they were at my house,” Ivy said. “My shampoo. They examined my shampoo. They found acid in my shampoo.” She burst into loud sobs.
My brain was spinning. How was this possible? Who would do a thing like that? It had to be a mistake. It couldn’t have happened. Ivy had such a thing about her hair. No one would do that. No one.
I waited for her to stop sobbing. “What did the doctors say, Ivy?” I asked. “Are you all right?”
“I have burns all over my head. They’re going to treat them. They say I can go home tomorrow.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say. I—”
“It had to be Poppy.”
I swallowed again. “Huh? Poppy? What do you mean?”
“She did it. She put the acid in the shampoo, Jeremy. I know what she’s doing. I’m sure of it.”
“Please try to calm down, Ivy,” I said. “You sound like you’re berserk or something. I mean—”
“Berserk? Of course I’m berserk. I lost my hair, Jeremy. All of it. She tried to kill me. Don’t you see? Poppy is getting some kind of crazy revenge.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Poppy is your friend,” I said. “Yeah, she’s angry about the robbery prank, but she wouldn’t—”
“I told the police about her. It had to be her.” She started to sob again.
I didn’t know what to say. Acid in her shampoo? What a vicious attack. It could have blinded Ivy. It could have killed her. Could Poppy have done that?
I’ve known Poppy forever. Sure, she gets angry. She has a temper. She’s an enthusiastic person. She never goes halfway. But she isn’t a killer. And she isn’t vicious. She would never hurt Ivy like that, even if she’s angry at her.
Or am I wrong? Poppy did swear revenge that night.
“Jeremy, sorry. I just keep crying. I can’t stop.” Ivy’s voice shook me from my thoughts. “Can you come here? Can you come to the hospital?”
I let out a long whoosh of air. I wanted to be with Ivy, but I knew I couldn’t.
“I can’t leave the house,” I said. “I’m really sorry. My asthma is bad, and my inhaler is nearly empty. I have to be really careful, Ivy. I’m not breathing very well.”
A long silence. I could hear her breathing. “I see,” she said finally. “Well . . . hope you’re okay.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll come see you at your house.”
“I don’t want anyone to see me. Ever again. My head looks like a burned marshmallow.” She was crying and talking at the same time.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “The police will catch whoever did it. Meanwhile, maybe you should get some rest,” I said.
“I’ve got to go. The doctors are here.” She clicked off.
I sat there for a while at the edge of my bed. Ugly pictures ran through my mind, visions of Ivy without her beautiful hair, Ivy with her head burned and bandaged.
I reached for the inhaler. The horror of her news was making my breathing more difficult. I realized I was making loud wheezing sounds with each breath, and each breath was a struggle.
I squeezed the inhaler once, twice. It was nearly empty. I knew I had to calm down and get my breathing under control.
I changed for bed, turned off the lights, and slid under the covers. The streetlamp outside my open bedroom window sent an angled pattern of light onto the wall. I turned on my side, away from the light, and shut my eyes.
It took a long time to get to sleep. I kept hearing Ivy’s angry, shrill voice, and her sobs. I finally drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I don’t know how long I slept. I was awakened by a loud buzzing sound. At first, I thought it was my phone. But the rasping sound rose and fell and seemed to surround me.
I cried out when something swiped against my forehead. I felt another bump at the back of my head.
I clicked on the light—and screamed.
The room was filled with big flying, buzzing insects. What were they? I swatted one off the top of my head. I kept blinking myself awake, blinking until I could focus on the swarming creatures.
Hornets!
Dozens of black hornets, swooping in a swarm up to my ceiling, then down again, circling my room, buzzing angrily. I sat up. Struggled to pull myself out of bed. But my feet tangled in the bed sheet and I fell to the floor.
How did they get in? I glanced and saw that the window was shut. But hadn’t it been open when I went to bed?
“Ow!” I uttered a cry at the first sting. My arm throbbed. And then another angry pinch, a pinprick of pain, as a hornet stung the back of my neck.
“Ow!” I wrestled with the bedsheet. Managed to free myself. “Ow.” A sting on the middle of my back, right through my T-shirt.
I stood up. And they swarmed around me, circling me, flying inches from my body, buzzing louder . . . louder.
“Help!” I cried weakly.
The hornets were so thick over my face, I couldn’t see past them. I saw only the glistening black of their fat bodies as they circled. I tried swinging both arms, trying to bat them away. But they clung to my arms and began to sting. The buzzing grew lower as the angry creatures attached themselves to my chest, my legs, my face.
I twisted and turned and shouted and cried as they swarmed over me, stinging . . . stinging . . . my skin ringing in pain, the pain so overwhelming, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t think. I was being buried under the swarm, under their vicious bites . . . buried . . .
Oh, help. Please. I can’t brush them off. I can’t swat them away.
I can’t . . . I can’t breathe . . . can’t breathe . . . can’t breathe.
