Page 78 of The Life and (Medieval) Times of Kit Sweetly

I grab my phone off the nightstand and pull my covers back over my head. Still nothing from Layla, Alex, Lizzy, Mags, or Penny.

Opening our Knights group text, I type a quick message.

Kit: Morning friends! I’m sorry again I didn’t tell you about what Corporate said. Maybe we can still get together to train? I don’t know if you’ll be there, but I’ll be at Layla’s at 3:30 like we planned.

Mags: Can’t make it.

Layla: Yeah, we have to cancel. My mom’s taking me shopping after school.

What? Her mom is never home at that time of day. And Layla hates shopping with her mom because they always end up in what she calls “fossilized old rich lady boutiques.”

A pang goes through me. I knew my friends were mad, but this feels really, really, really mad.

Kit: Okay. Maybe not today. See you all at work tomorrow. And sorry again. xx.

Nobody else replies. All of which is too crushing to think about without some coffee in me. I can’t face school and seeing my friends’ anger, so despite the fact that I missed Monday too, I decide to skip school today. What’s the point of being a senior if you can’t ditch days here and there?

I know skipping school is the coward’s way out, but I just feel battered from every side.

I mean, I’ve worked so hard for the chance of knighthood. But what have I gotten from it? Demotion, death threats, and a great big heap of nothing. Who even cares if all these kids are hoping to see the Girl Knight? Suddenly, the whole thing feels stupid, foolish, and unnecessary. Maybe I should just get a job at the mall or something. It would be easy, cut-and-dried, and seriously without the heroic quest aspects. Likely too I’d be able to keep my head down and make enough money for the start of school.

I imagine working at the mall. Folding shirts, peddling facial creams, or flipping burgers at the food court. Each new job makes me cringe worse than the one before.

Also, if I’m being honest, I’d miss the smell of the Castle, the friends I have there, the whisper of anticipation when the lights go out, the roar of the crowd as the Knights ride in. I love it as much as I did the first time I saw the show, and that’s enough to make me want to make it better and fairer for everyone. But the question is how? How do I convince my friends to stop being mad? How do I get them to ride out like we planned?

Answers aren’t hiding under my covers, but maybe they lie at the bottom of a mug of coffee.

I get out of bed. Last night, my dreams were full of scaly green trolls chasing me through some sort of eerie medieval London-type space, yelling about how they wanted to kill me. My stomach is basically eating itself, and all of yesterday’s mess sits heavy on my mind. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and pull on a pair of jeans from the laundry bag. They’re wrinkled, but they smell clean at least. A vintage Rainbow Brite T-shirt and my boots complete the outfit. Time for caffeine.

Mom’s door is still closed, her snores steady as a lawn mower. I’m not ready to face her yet, so I close my door softly and tiptoe past hers. Coffee is already made, and I pour myself a huge cup.

In the living room, the TV is on super loud and Chris is laughing. I poke my head in there.

“What, in God’s name, are you watching?”

On the TV, two dogs are getting married in a swanky church. Women in designer dresses beam at the dogs, and then the two dogs start licking each other.

“I don’t know!” Chris gasps, clutching his injured ribs as he laughs. Tears stream from his eyes. “But these two dogs talk, and they’re like married now, and they’re super fancy …”

Beside Chris sits a bottle of pain meds, a cup of coffee, and an empty bag of chips. He’s almost at the end of the prescription. It lifts my spirits a bit to see him cheerfully stoned and watching kids’ TV.

I plop down on the couch beside him and pluck a few uneaten chips from between the couch cushions. Because it’s that kind of day.

“How are you feeling?” I ask after a few minutes of watching the convoluted puppy plot spin out of control. Wrapping my hands around my coffee, I take a long gulp. It’s terrible after the flavored chips, but I need it for thinking.

“Great,” says Chris. “I can barely feel my ribs, and I think I’ll be able to shower today.”

“Thank God,” I mumble. “No offense, bro, but you’re not looking your best.”

Chris makes a face and throws a chip at me. I bat it away and it flies back toward him.

“Hey!” Chris looks away from the TV and scrunches his face as if he’s trying to remember something. “Why were you so stinky yesterday?”

He looks so concerned that I can’t help it. The entire story comes pouring out of me. Starting with Len’s speech to everyone, my friends’ anger, my demotion to lower stable hand, and falling into the dumpster. I leave out kissing Jett, because there are some things you don’t tell your brother. No matter how cool he is.

“I can’t believe Len did that,” says Chris. “Do you want me to call Penny? I’m sure she’s not really mad.”

“I’ll figure it out. You just rest. Get better.”