“What was that?” While Joey was far from deaf, he wasn’t sure his ears had quite made sense of Chris’s words.

Justin and Lance looked puzzled, too. “What’s this about a bruise, Chris?” Lance asked.

“What are you talking about?” Justin added, quirking his eyebrows.

“I’m talking about this one, right here,” Chris said, using his index finger to tap very lightly on Joey’s right arm, just below the shoulder. When Joey sat upright and twisted his arm a bit, and the other two guys scooted in closer, their eyes widened at the blue-black patch on Joey’s bare skin. It was at least the size of a dollar piece, and rather ugly. Joey started to touch it himself, but quickly withdrew his hand.

“Oh, wow,” Justin said with a low whistle. “That looks nasty!”

“How in the world did that happen, Joe?” Lance asked softly.

“I don’t know,” said Joey, every bit as baffled as his friends were, if not more so. “Must have banged it on something, I suppose.”

Chris frowned. “I don’t recall you having any serious falls or crashes before, Joe,” he muttered. “Not recently, anyway. And even if you did, surely it couldn’t have been serious enough to give you this kind of mark.”

“Well, still,” said Joey, in an unconvincing attempt at bravado, “it’s just a bruise, right? It’s not that big of a deal, right?”

Lance shook his head. “I’m no medical whiz, Joe, but I don’t like the look of that bruise at all.”

“Me neither,” said Justin.

“Me neither,” Chris echoed.

“I don’t think you could have gotten something like that from just anywhere,” Lance went on.

Before Joey could say anything else, JC showed up right then, bringing a strawberry mocktail with him. “Hey, gents,” he said, “what’s going on over here?”

Quickly, Joey covered his bruise with his free hand, but he wasn’t quick enough. JC looked at him curiously. “What’s up with you, Joey?”

“Nothing.”

Lance and Chris rolled their eyes while Justin said with a soft scoff, “Like heck, it’s nothing.”

Even if JC hadn’t known Joey as well as he did for as long as he had, he didn’t buy that “nothing” for a second. “Come on, man,” he said in his best you-can-never-fool-me tone as he crouched beside him and Chris. “Move your hand, please.”

“No!”

“Oh, you might as well, Joe,” said Chris, as if speaking to a three-year-old. “Besides, he’ll only pry off your fingers if you don’t.”

Reluctantly, Joey brought his bruise to light once more. Now it was JC’s turn to go all wide-eyed and gasp; he almost lost his hold on his glass. “Oh, my gosh, Joey! How did you get that?”

“That’s what I asked him, a moment ago,” Chris said.

JC ran his fingertip gently over the dark blot and winced, as if it pained him to touch it. “Oooh…that doesn’t look good. Not good at all.”

“Well, that doesn’t make me feel good ‘at all,’” Joey muttered.

“What happened to you, man?”

Unable to help himself, Joey snapped, “I don’t know, okay? Maybe I’m a bigger klutz than any of us thought, or maybe there’s not enough iron in my diet, or maybe my skin decided to go for a different color! Now, will you all just get off my back?”

The others jumped at this unexpected outburst. Then Chris’s eyes narrowed and he said softly but bluntly, “Geez, Joe, no need to go and snap our heads off.”

“Ex-cuse us for showing some concern,” Justin added.

Joey glared at them, but only said, “I’m going to the snack bar.”

Before he went there, however, he pulled on his rumpled shirt once more, and he tugged on his sleeve a bit to make sure his bruise was completely covered.

When they returned to their condo that night, Chris, Justin, Lance, and JC were exhausted from all the swimming, golfing, tennis, dancing, eating, and overall splurging they had done. Joey, despite having spent almost the entire time sleeping or reclining in a deck chair, dozed off during the ride home, and later had to be practically dragged up the stairs. As soon as Chris unlocked the door and they’d all stumbled inside, Joey announced, “I’m taking a shower and going to bed.”

No one raised any objection, though it was starting to truly bother the others that Joey could still be fatigued now. They were too tired and had had too good of a day to argue, anyway. So, while Joey slogged down the hall to the bathroom, JC and Lance settled down to watch the evening news in the living room while Chris and Justin opted to play a round of cards in the kitchen.

After Joey had his shower, he studied himself in the mirror for a minute; he had to admit, if not aloud, that he was looking below par these days. His face appeared pasty, despite his light sunburn, and looking a little closer, he could just make out a strange lump in his neck, close to his jaw. He also noticed a few more bruises scattered across his upper body—not as prominent as the one on his arm, but no less unsightly.

With a mild shake of his head, Joey thought, It’s no big deal. Besides, I can always pick up an antibiotic if it’s something serious. Even as this notion sounded through his brain, some deeper, more rational part of him was not so sure.

Turning away from the mirror, he pulled on some fresh nightclothes and headed for his room, the one he shared with Lance and Chris. Soft blue moonlight peeked through the half-closed curtains, and the clock radio on the nightstand read a quarter to twelve. Joey sighed as he slid between the cool sheets, and he was out like a light almost the instant his head hit the pillow.

Sometime during the early morning, however, he woke up with an unpleasant start. Before he could settle down again, he became aware of how damp his sheets were; it was as if someone had just poured a full bucket of water all over his bed. He also noticed he was dripping with perspiration, and he felt the sudden, desperate urge to throw up.

He nearly tripped on the sheets in his scramble from his bed, and he only just made it to the bathroom before he let loose.