What If? Talent of Truth

Sleepover

He looks at me strangely, as if this was the oddest condition he had ever heard. Now that I think about it, it probably is. He accepts the condition, and leaves to go pack.

I dash up the stairs to my attic room. On the far right is my bed, a rectangle window in the center you can open and reach a ledge on the roof. Left of the stairs, my precious six toys are lined up in order from left to right by year.

A stuffed rabbit Dad gave so I wouldn't get lonely, an Ironman action figure to grant me strength, my wind up chicken he gave in hope I would laugh one day, a book on psychology which he gave so I could figure out my condition and get over it, a plastic flute he gave so I could convey emotion without speaking, and just last year he gave me a glass statue of a star in hopes I'll grow to be one.

After looking at them, I start cleaning my room. My bed is made, the window closed, my one shelf of books mounted on the wall to the left of my bed has been tidied, and I lay out a blanket and pillow for me to sleep on. Because "A guest gets the best!" As my Dad always said. I take one last look before remembering to dust off the empty shelf to the left of my bed.

Another slam. How come he keeps coming in a car anyway? Oh well. I run down and open the door as Eric reaches it. He is carrying nothing, but there's like twenty guys, each carrying something behind him. He goes inside and the other people start to follow. I grab Eric's shoulder, and he turns to look at me.