They disappear into their bedroom, and I do the same. My sweet friend, Sammy, is curled up on my pillow, waiting for a behind-the-ear scratch. I sit on the edge of the bed and oblige. He responds with a comforting purr. It’s hard to believe that a few short weeks ago he was living behind the dumpster out back and now he’s my best friend in this town. He’s taken to apartment living quite well.
I close my eyes. I am home. I am safe. So why do I feel scared? I get off the bed and pace around my bedroom before I head to the kitchen for a glass of water. I tiptoe as quietly as I can, but Carole’s bionic hearing foils my attempt at stealth mode.
“Is everything all right? Are you sure you’re not hurt?” she asks, peeking her head into the hallway.
“Everything’s fine, Carole. I’m just getting a drink.”
“Okay, Simon, but be quieter, please. You know your mom has been suffering from migraines, and your little incident tonight didn’t help. Her new boss has high expectations, and she wants to prove herself. Let’s try to be supportive.”
“I know, Carole, I’m sorry. Maybe Mom would like a cup of her chamomile tea?”
“Simon Bugg, that’s not a half-bad idea. I think I’ll make her a cup. Sleep tight tonight, Little Bug. You must be so excited for your new school.”
“Yeah, really excited. Like going to the dentist excited,” I mumble as I drift back to my room and close the door. “I’m not a little kid, Carole. You can call me by my name, Carole. It’s Simon.” But behind my closed door, she doesn’t hear me. I hear her, though, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. A clink of ceramic on glass is followed by the sharp, plastic snap of the microwave door. I guess she finally found the tea.
I hate it when they call me Little Bug. I am not a little kid anymore. I’m almost seventeen years old! I can drive a car. Well, sort of. I have adult problems, I have adult… But Mom has always called me Little Bug, and now Carole has picked up the habit too. Yeah, I’m small for my age. Yes, my last name is Bugg, a gift from my deadbeat, British father. But come on!
I pull the covers up to my chin and take a sip of water. I consider reading another chapter in my book, but the alarm goes off early tomorrow. I pick up Sammy instead and hold him close to my face. Like a mighty motor, his purr reverberates in my ear. I take another sip and choke on the liquid. I’m apprehensive about starting a new school. I’m worried about making new friends or finding the perfect girlfriend. These are normal fears. But now I have another set of fears to add to my list. I could stop breathing again at any moment. The scratching feeling inside might return. I try closing my eyes, but almost immediately I jump out of bed to escape the racing thoughts.
My skin prickles with electricity and a cold chill settles over me. The dashboard clock said 11:22 when I couldn’t breathe, and the scratching began. A shiver runs down my spine. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, and I don’t even know why, but I fear this will be the time of my death.
2
Mags
My phone buzzes me awake.
You could’ve tried harder to stay
What time is it? I rub at the sand in my eyes.
I can’t believe you left Neel and me to fend for OURSELVES in our senior year
Shit! I overslept. No! No! No! This can’t be how the day starts. The texts from Magnolia Chen come in at a manic pace:
I will never forgive you for this Bug Boy
Don’t forget you already have best friends
Hello?
Are you dead?
Almost forgot. Love you! xxx ooo
Oh, Mags. Always so dramatic! I ignore her texts, stick my head under the shower to wet my hair, and comb it as best as I can. Ugh, my Jewfro is getting out of control! I throw on a pair of tattered khaki shorts, my favorite lime-green T-shirt, and black high-tops. I grab my glasses and run to the kitchen. Carole is wrapped in a bathrobe, embracing a steaming mug of coffee like she is holding a koala bear.
“Morning, Carole. Where’s Mom?”
“Still in bed. She had a bad night. I’m giving her five more minutes before I get her in the shower and off to work.”
“Any chance there’s toast?”
“Here, sit down, and I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Not a chance. I’m already late. I’ll eat a granola bar on the way.”
I blow a kiss Carole’s way as I fly out the apartment door and bound down the two flights of stairs with my backpack in tow. My second-hand Honda Civic, resilient from last night’s adventure, waits patiently in a marked spot in front of the building.
