At some point during the night, her upper and lower sets of peacock lashes, glue, and mascara fused together. She’d need a crowbar to open her eyelids. Stumbling, she felt her way into the bathroom and splashed her face with warm water. Bits of sticky gunk came off in her hands (not that she could see it yet). Eventually, she was able to soften the glue, peel off the false lashes, scrub away the makeup, and see the morning. Or was it afternoon? The last thing Gia remembered, she, Bella, Fredo, and Tanner were toasting with mile-long frozen margarita glasses. Tanner poured a shot of mescal into the red straw so their first sip would be a brain freeze of straight alcohol. “To good luck, bad luck, and all the luck in between,” said Tanner. “Alla salute!” Oh, Gawd. Just the memory of drinking made her stomach lurch. Gia held her fingers to her lips—noticing with relief that all of her nails were still intact—and went for the toilet. She opened the lid and bent over it. A wet, green creature coiled in the bowl opened its calzone-size jaw and snapped at her, missing her nose by half an inch.
