Bookworm

Bookworm - Chapter 3

At home, I grab my bike and speed down the hill toward Starbucks, where I'm gonna meet up with Georgia (another friend. Don't worry, I lose track too sometimes). She lives just below us, about 500 feet down the hill in a condo complex that always smells like marshmallows and toast. I love riding my bike. It gives me a sense of freedom, mostly because I really can't focus on anything else when I'm flying down a hill at 15 miles an hour. With my binder shoved in my basket and a $10 gift card for Starbucks in my back pocket, I feel wonderful. 

When I arrive, it's chaos. From the outside, it just looks like they're staging a debate...with lots of flying lattes. I enter the door and I get whapped upside the head by a strawberry acai refresher, which for some reason greatly insults me. "That's my favorite drink! You can't do that!" I scream, before realizing how stupid that is. Somewhere, somebody's wailing. 

At this point, you can imagine, I was very confused.

I grabbed a woman running towards the door and asked "What's going on? What's happening?" I yell. She stares at me with a vacant expression before mumbling "Tree. Tree. Large sentient tree." I dismiss her as insane and follow the trail of spilled frapuccino. However, it turns out that Miss Crazy was not lying. A huge branch-like arm whips through the crowd, followed by a volley of Starbucks coffee. I catch a glimpse of a head that looks like an upside-down stump, and I blink. "It's too early for this. I am going home." I mutter, even though it's 4 pm. I shoot Georgia a quick text and say 'don't come; latte fight' and think of how confused she'll be when she picks up her phone.

When I got home, I sat down and thought through the last few minutes. I shook my head. I must have had some out of date milk, or cheese, or something, I thought. I took some aspirin, turned on my bluetooth speaker and blasted my favorite genre: dubstep. After all, I should make the most of my time home alone. So I crawl under my bed and excavate an over-doodled journal from a pile of stuffed animals. In here, I write everything I can't say to anyone else. Anything I want to happen, I write about. It lets me escape from reality. 

-()-()-()- 4 hours later, 8:30 pm -()-()-()-

Dear Mr. Therapist,

Today was a bitch. I spent a lot of my time avoiding people I hate. Ya know, people like Autumn. But hey, I got to sit with Maclean and Trevor at lunch, cuz Trevor took his insulin pills before coming to school, so he doesn't have to run to the office to get a shot every hour. Trev invited me to his birthday party, and  the only other people coming are Mac and Olivia. I know I shouldn't guard this journal like it's gold, but if anyone reads what else I've written in here, the whole school would ridicule me. Especially Janet. She's a terrible sister.

I lean back in my chair with a satisfied sigh. Maybe it's not a whole lot to write, but it's all the paper I'm willing to waste. I breathe in and do some mental math, then review my schedule for the next few days.

Tomorrow (Saturday) -  Grocery shopping (with whatever money we have set aside for this week), head over to Trevor's house at 3

Sunday - Leave Trevor's at 10 am, bike down to the coin laundromat to get the laundry done

Monday -  School (unfortunately)

I sigh. Nothing like school to ruin a good weekend afternoon. I reach over to grab my novel, but my hand lands on empty space. Janet, you piece of shit.  She stole my book, the bitch. She must have been impatient, waiting for me to read it. I was on the last chapter, for god's sake. I walk over to my "read next" shelf, and my eyes land on my birthday book.  I blink. I had forgotten about it. As I pick up the book, I flip it over to scrutinize the back. Covered in gold drawings of mythical beasts, it's crazy to look at. But that's not what made me pause. I glanced at it, and started. There, sitting in the top left corner, is a huge human-like tree. I squint and look closer. "Oh hell no." I shove the book back on the shelf and back away. The book stares at me, almost taunting me. I can practically hear it saying "Aww. Callie's scared of a book. CHICKEN!" I glare and flip it off. "Shut up before I burn you," I say. The sensation fades. I wag my head like wet dog. I should visit a doctor.