My dad’s voice. I saw my door was open as I doubled over on the floor, still clutching Big Dawg’s leash. I couldn’t keep it in, and I puked right on him. Just that nasty stuff when there’s nothing else in your stomach. “Layla!” His voice was coming closer. Crap, crap, crap. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and tried to stand up. “Layla!” He was in my doorway. “Where were you? Mom called and said you’d come home sick, but I was just in here and you weren’t.” Then he covered his nose. “Dang, what is that smell? You get sick in here?” I nodded weakly, and I wasn’t playing. Maybe the sicker I acted, the less he’d ask me. “We gotta clean that up. I’ma get some paper towels.” He backed out fast. I fell back on the bed. Poor Big Dawg. Dad threw Big Dawg in the bathroom sink and wiped up the floor. He dumped baking soda on the spot and covered it with a paper towel. “OK, don’t step on it,” he said. “You feel like you’re going to be sick again?” I shook my head, my eyes closed.
