“What time is it?”
“Does it matter? It’s your day off. But yeah, it’s almost eight a.m. I have a very, very important question.”
“Okay,” Britt managed.
“What happened last night?”
“Umm... we drank margaritas and then...”
She stopped.
It worried her very much that she didn’t know how to finish that sentence.
“I have whiskers on my face,” Casey hissed.
“Happens when you get older,” Britt mumbled. “Just wax them.”
“BUNNY whiskers. And ears over my eyebrows. I have a freaking BUNNY FACE.”
She was managing to be hysterical while whispering, which was really quite a feat.
Britt lay as still as possible. Good God. Who was playing bongos outside at this hour?
It took her what felt like another minute to realize the pounding was coming from inside her own head. It was the Margarita Marching Band.
“BRITT! Are you there? Are you alive? Are you okay?” Casey was now shouting in a whisper.
“I’m just trying to... I mean, we drank margaritas, Casey, we didn’t take peyote or lick any psychedelic toads, so I don’t know why you’re seeing a bunny face in the mirror. Unless you did when I wasn’t looking? Or after we got home? Wait... howdidwe get home?”
Her clothes were still on. She ran an experimental hand over her body, and all her limbs were present and accounted for. She inhaled.
She smelled like strawberries.
But her head and her stomach were playing a really nasty duet.
“I called Kayla and she took you home. No. Britt, I have SHARPIE whiskers. Black ones. I have a SHARPIE nose and eyelashes, too, and ears that sort of rise up over my eyebrows. Like a BUNNY. I. AM. A. BUNNY.”
Silence.
And through the sludge of her hangover the memories began to reassemble.
“Oh... oh crap,” she whispered in horror. “I remember now... at the bus bench... You asked me to turn you into a bunny... because you thought the bunny on the bus bench was cute. And so we bunnified Rebecca Corday... and then... and then...”
The silence on the other end told her Casey was remembering all of this, too, and everything else they’d done, with equal horror.
In light of all they’d accomplished last night, every bit of it illegal, one part of it kind of dangerous, it really was kind of a miracle they’d gotten home in one piece.
“You kept wiggling your nose when I was drawing... and then you fell off the bench laughing while I was working on it.” Her memory was sludgy. Forming words felt like trudging through a swamp and they were all still a little slurry.
“Well, I guess that explains that one long whisker that zips right up to my ear. And that bruise on my hip.” Casey was sounding a little more pragmatic now.
Britt was utterly silent. If she laughed, which she wanted to do, her head would explode.
“Do you know what’sreallyweird, Britt?” Casey said this on a hush.
As if there was anything weirder than this.
“What?”