CHANGES [eric matthews]

I Was A Teenage Spy

↳CHAPTER 3.9
I Was A Teenage Spy.
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『 "Brad Pittsir's a spy!"』
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DO YOU KNOW HOW EMBARRASSING it is to show up to your best friend's house with a pale, sweaty face, about to pass out, having just thrown up?

Beck had been feeling sick all day. She didn't know what it was. Maybe she had eaten something bad, maybe she had caught the plague from one of those subway rats, or, more likely, the flu from her lab partner, Matt Roman.

It was strange, since he was usually such a germaphobe. But when she learned he had been sent home sick, she could imagine what emotional pain he was in.

Poor Matt.

Actually, screw Matt! He got me sick.

Beck's thoughts were jumbled as she walked the sidewalk, feeling like her eyes could close at any minute. It was hot, she was tired, her entire body ached. She had barely heard a word Feeny had said all hour, responding "12?" When he asked her to name the axis powers of World War 2.

He wasn't impressed.

On the way home, just when she was fifteen minutes away from the apartment, she threw up in the bushes. And then again two minutes later.

Luckily, when she had looked up, she was on the street the Matthews lived, and an idea popped into her head. It was perhaps the only common sense she had all day. She willed herself to stop at the their house instead of trudging the rest of the way to her own—she was sure she wouldn't make it. Maybe a bit dramatic in hind sight, but to her this was life or death.

She pounded on the back door of the Matthews, feeling her feet sway her back and forth and her legs wobble. She was incredibly thankful when Amy Matthews opened the door and stared at her with wide, concerning eyes.

"I threw up." Is all Beck said, her eyes feeling heavy.

"Oh, come here!" Amy fussed, pressing the back of her hand to the girl's forehead, "Have you talked to Jonathan yet?"

"Nope." Beck responded, though her mind was else where. She peered through her tired and blurry eyes to the little girl at the table with blue eyes and a box of crayons, "Morgan?"

"Hi, Beck. You okay?" The girl answered, making Beck's eyes go wide.

"I haven't seen you in ages! I was beginning to think I had made you up." She said in awe as Amy shuffled her towards the living room. It had been forever since she had babysat, and maybe it was the sickness getting to her, but she had sworn she looked like a completely different person. Weird!

By the time she had been sat down on the couch, her mind still thinking of Morgan, she was shocked to see Eric sitting next to her, an eyebrow raised,

"You okay Becky Bear?" He asked, picking up a pretzel stick from his bowl.

"Am I dead?" She blinked, then narrowed her eyes, "Don't call me that!"

"You're so dramatic." Eric rolled his eyes, "You're not dead. Did my mom drug you up?"

"Not yet." Beck mumbled. If on cue, Amy came back with cold medicine, and made her swallow it in a bitter take. She winced, "Why must you torture me?"

Amy ignored her and turned to her son, "Eric, get up! She needs to lay down!"

Eric groaned but obliged, and soon Beck was horizontal.

"I'm gonna call Jon!" Amy told her as she ran back to the kitchen.