I don’t pick up on her ploy until I’ve made my choice and ripped open the bag of worms.
“Oh god. Something’s really wrong,” she says, shaky hand covering her mouth like I’ve just announced a terminal cancer diagnosis.
I toss the bag back on my bed and reach for the chocolate instead.
“It’s too late! You grabbed the worms! What the hell is going on?”
You see, Madeleine knows my tells: wine is for every day; chocolate is for your average, run-of-the-mill bad day; but gummy worms—those are for red alert, code black situations.