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Chapter 1

DO YOU SEE THAT UNSHOWERED, unshaven heap on the couch? The guy in the dirty gray T-shirt and ripped sweatpants?

That’s me, Drew Evans

I’m not usually like this I mean, that really isn’t me

In real life, I’roomed, my chin is clean-shaven, and my black hair is slicked back at the sides in a way I’ve been told erous but professional My suits are handmade I wear shoes that cost more than your rent

My apartht now The shades are drawn, and the furniture gloith a bluish hue from the television The tables and floor are littered with beer bottles, pizza boxes, and empty ice cream tubs

That’s not my real apartirl come by twice a week And it has every -boy toy you can think of: surround sound, satellite speakers, and a big-screen plas for more The decor is modern—lots of black and stainless steel—and anyone who enters knows a man lives there

So, like I said—what you’re seeing right now isn’t the real me I have the flu

Influenza

Have you ever noticed some of the worst sicknesses in history have a lyrical sound to them? Words like malaria, diarrhea, cholera Do you think they do that on purpose? Tothat dropped out of your dog’s ass?

Influenza Has a nice ring to it, if you say it enough

At least I’m pretty sure that’s what I have That’s why I’ve been holed up in my apartment the last seven days That’s why I turned otten off the couch only to use the bathroouy

How long does the flu last anyway? Ten days? A o My alar froo to the office where I’ it to kingdom come

It was annoying anyway Stupid clock Stupid beep-beep-beeping

I rolled over and went back to sleep When I did eventually drag my ass out of bed, I felt weak and nauseous My chest ached; ht? I couldn’t sleep any more, so I planted myself here, on ht here All week Watching Will Ferrell’s greatest hits on the plasma

Anchorht now I’ve watched it three tihed yet Not once Maybe the fourth time’s the charm, huh?

Now there’s a pounding at my door

Frigging door to be sorry when he gets my Christmas tip this year, you can bet your ass

I ignore the pounding, though it coain

And again

“Drew! Drew, I know you’re in there! Open the goddamn door!”

Oh no

It’s The Bitch Otherwise known as my sister, Alexandra

When I say the word bitch I mean it in the most affectionate way possible, I swear But it’s what she is De to kill my doorman

“If you don’t open this door, Drew, I’ the police to break it down, I swear to God!”

See what I mean?

I grasp the pillow that’s been resting on my lap since the flu started I push my face into it and inhale deeply It smells like vanilla and lavender Crisp and clean and addictive

“Drew! Do you hear me?”

I pull the pillow over my head Not because it s that continues at my door

“I’!” Alexandra’s voice is whiny arning, and I know she’s not screwing around

I sigh deeply and force et up from the couch The walk to the door takes tis is an effort

Frigging flu

I open the door and bracethe latest iPhone up to her ear with one perfectly manicured hand Her blond hair is pulled back in a sis from her shoulder, the sa

Behind her, looking appropriately contrite in a wrinkled navy suit, is my best friend and coworker, Matthew Fisher

I forgive you, Doorman It’s Mattheho must die

“Jesus Christ!” Alexandra yells in horror “What the hell happened to you?”

I told you this isn’t the real me

I don’t answer her I don’t have the energy I just leave the door open and fall face first onto my couch It’s soft and warm, but firm

I love you, couch—have I ever told you that? Well, I’ you now

Though my eyes are buried in the pillow, I sense Alexandra and Matthealking slowly into the apartine the shock on their faces at its condition I peek out from my cocoon and see that my mind’s eye was spot on

“Drew?” I hear her ask, but this tihout the one short syllable

Then she’s pissed again “For God’s sake, Matthehy didn’t you call me sooner? How could you let this happen?”

“I haven’t seen him, Lex!” Matthew says quickly See—he’s afraid of The Bitch too “I came every day He wouldn’t open the door for me”

I sense the couch dip as she sits beside h the back of my hair “Honey?”

Her voice is so achingly worried, she reminds me of my mother When I was a boy and sick at home, Mom would come in my room with hot chocolate and soup on a tray She would kiss my forehead to see if it still burned with fever She always made me feel better Themoisture to my closed eyes