Castling: A Novel (NaNoWriMo21)

52. Nobody Wants to See That

Wednesday

So, today, I woke up, and ever since then, it's felt like I've had something stuck in my throat. It's the weirdest sensation. I'm not sure if it was the morning toast or the back of my mouth is just ridiculously dry from the weather, but I can't shake it.

"Oh, Master Chase!"

Every time I swallow, I squint, it aches.

"Dinner!"

Then again, maybe I do know what this is. Logic says this is what happens to me when I'm catching a cold. The last time I got sick was two years ago. It's a biannual event, I'm due. But, can't it wait a week? I can't be sick. 50 percent of my grade won't let me.

I lean back in my chair and stick my tongue out at Gumball. "Hmph. Don heel goo..."

"Chase!"

Why?!

"What's wrong with you?" Mom asks when I jump.

Also, ow!

I swallow my bitten tongue, holding my squint back because it'll only lead to more awkward questions. "Uh, nothing?"

"...Dinner's done."

"I know."

"Before it gets cold."

Hello? Listening ears?

The smell of tiny tree temptation lingers in the hallway. I creep out of my room and shuffle into the kitchen to find a bowlful with butter.

We party all night long on the beaches, in to-own

Rock this bleeping school all night lo-ong

I'm crashing really hard, I'm not having any fun

So, please keep me home...

Before I die of boredom in downtown?

...Eh. Work-in-progress.

"What are you singing there," Dad asks.

I hate when they hear me.

"Oh. ...The stupid school concert."

There's more to the meal, but my eyes only find the trees appetizing. Sorry, lasagna. I really don't want you anyway. I'm a pesce-pollotarian.

"Can I stay home tomorrow?" I ask.

"Heh. And why is that?"

No. That's the answer. Just say it. Rip the Band-Aid off and tell me instead of laughing at my misery.

"There are dancing computers," I say.

Error 404. Dad doesn't know what to say, so he keeps laughing.

"Nobody wants to see that."

"Why computers?" Mom asks.

"Exactly."

However, just like November, my plea falls on deaf ears. I take the whole meal to my room, but I only munch on trees. They're warm with a slight crunch. The butter runs down my throat. It feels like a be-all cure for the funny ache until I take too long of a pause between bites to read what's on my screen and the ache reboots.

I'm halfway through the new Chloe Wishmere chapter the creator posted the other night. It's one of those fun filler arcs with her and this cat-human hybrid named Trevin. Chloe can't stand Trevin, but I think it's more of a love-hate dynamic. They always seem to need each other for something at some point (stay away from the fanfics!).

I channel my Trevin voice, scratchy but cute. "But, Clover..."

Trevin's nickname for Chloe.

"...You have to!" I raise my tone for Chloe. "Not my problem!"

As in...this stupid spring concert isn't my problem!

We party all night long on the beaches, in to-own

Rock—

Stop singing, me!

Oh, great tree out front, help me. Grant me a piece of your energy to channel into patience, so that I may walk out of this concert unscathed. I haven't much time left, only a week until the flying Dutchwoman's maniacal performance consumes every one of our souls, one marching fifth-grade cyberkid at a time.

"This woman is a threat to the watershed!"

I can see myself now. It's the night of the concert, and I'm on stage, half-sick, anger seeping out from my pores. Instead of letting myself drown in the intense emotion, I'll channel it into an arrow like Chloe, aim it, shoot it at Mrs. K, knocking her out (because...family-friendly). Then, number-one Gregory can take the mic and lip-sync LJP's real hit to bring the parents back to their senses while I retreat to my treehouse in the watershed to recharge with Maxy-Max and lucky Clover.

I sigh. "Whyare all the good places imaginary?"