We ran the rest of the way to my house, which didn't take more than a minute. Once we were inside, Soy started to make a snack from the fridge. This was despite the fact that ever since the "Midnight Sleepover Snack Incident of 2012", Soy was only allowed to take food from a special drawer labeled: FOOD THIEF.
My mom had woken up that fateful morning to find our kitchen in shambles. At first she blamed my dad, then what she estimated must have been fifteen raccoons, and then, finally, Soy. He was sprawled out on a pile of containers and wrappers (and not nearly enough napkins) when my mother came for him. "Worth it," was all he had the energy to say.
Afterwards, my parents and Soy's made an arrangement to give Soy his own drawer and only stock healthy food inside. That's also the reason that I never once saw him open it. Sometimes I ate from it to help cover for him.
"Soy, now's not the time for food," I said, shutting the fridge.
"No, it's all right," said Deli. "Soy, I want you to gather as much food as you can carry inside both of your backpacks and then bring them upstairs. Anything you want, okay?"
Soy was too shocked to speak. It was like she had just asked if he would mind testing every toy in the toy store. He nodded (and drooled a little).
I picked up Deli and ran up the stairs to my room. "Okay, we're here. Now what?" I asked.
"Now we get ready for liftoff," she said. "Open that window as far as it will go."
"Got it," I said.
I ran over to the window across from my bed and dresser, pulled up the blinds and lifted the glass as high as I could manage.
"That won't do it," she told me, "get it higher."
I used a baseball bat to get an extra two feet and built a base out of three books and an empty glass to hold it up. Deli gave me a little frog nod.
I ran back over to her and asked, "What else do you need for, wait... liftoff?"
Soy had to drag the backpacks into my room. By the time he got to us, his smile looked like it hurt.
"Great work, Soy!" Deli said. "Now lift them up onto the bed."
As Soy heaved the bags up one at a time, I heard crinkles and clinking and sloshing. My guess was that Soy must've taken absolutely everything in the kitchen except for the contents of his drawer.
"Do you have a smartphone?" Deli asked me.
I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a dark blue smartphone. It was a birthday gift from my mom. The cover was custom-made with a picture of me at three years old with spaghetti all over my face. I was pretty positive she had glued it on.
Even though I had the phone, my parents didn't really let me use it much. They told me it was only for emergencies, and they made sure to check the bill every month. On top of that, they looked at my text message history every week, just to be sure I wasn't using it improperly. Once, I used it to vote for my favorite singer on a reality show. When my parents found out, they grounded me for three weeks. They let me off the hook after two weeks, but I never got to see the finale.
"Now, hop on the bed," said Deli.
All three of us sat in a row facing the window, with Soy in the back with our bags, Deli in the center, and me at the foot of the bed.
"What do we do now?" Soy asked.
"We've got to fly this bed out of the room," she answered.
Soy was silent for a moment. "I decided I'm not asking any more questions," he said.
