Lunar Virus ✔️

Chapter One: Elodie

BOOM!

I stumble and drop to my knees. Beneath me? The grayest, saddest dirt I have ever seen.

BOOM! I realize I’m on the moon. How wonderful. I look around and realize my teddy bear (Cuddles the Great) is shooting lint out of his ears. What a relief! Wait. . . .

I wake up to the muffled sound of my alarm clock and realize that Cuddles is crushed up against my ear. Well, that explains the lint explosions.

One look around the room, and I know it’s time for school. How does one know this? Well, when it’s too dark to see whether or not the lump in your closet is a monster or a backpack, you know. Because, of course, school just has to start at 7:30 AM every single day.

Somehow, I manage to drag myself downstairs and shove some cereal in my mouth. Outside, the sun is barely rising, and I have to admit . . . it’s beautiful. Rays of sunlight the edges of clouds and glint off of dewdrops settled on the grass. I feel the overwhelming urge to close my eyes, but I know from years of experience that if I do that, I’ll fall asleep.

My parents are already at work, and my brother, a tiny seven-year-old brat, is off on some overnight school field trip (which, by the way, my parents would have never let me do back when I was seven). So, when the doorbell rings, I decide that the person’s need for me to actually physically get up to open the door is none too great. Let them think no one’s home. It’s basically the truth anyway. In this hour of the morning, my mind's still asleep. Sometimes, I wake up, take a shower, and eat breakfast, without me even registering what I’m doing.

The doorbell rings again. And again. And another five times.

Damn it! Whoever’s on the other side of that door is going to get their head bashed in! Another thing about morning me: no one should ever chew loudly, switch on lights, or talk while in my presence in the morning. That person would get their head bitten off.

I stomp to the door and yank it open a smidge. Is it anyone familiar? I run through my mental checklist:

1) Girl scout? Nope, too old.

2) Annoying neighbor? Nah.

3) Kidnapper? Ha, this lady? Hilarious.

4) Solicitor? Too well dressed.

5) Other? Shit, well I guess so.

She’s dressed in a perfectly wrinkle-free pencil skirt, a silk button-down, and a blazer. In other words, she’s dressed plain snazzy.

“Sí?” What can I say? Spanish 2 Academic has really broadened my horizon.

“Elodie Chaucer, I presume?”

“Nope, wrong house.”

She raises her eyebrows and I can practically feel my lie shrivel to a husk of shame and die. Am I really losing my touch that fast? I shift so that I can properly slam the door (I’ve had practice. I do it the right way always) but before the door can close, she does something that no sane stranger has ever done; she shoves her foot into the crack. All the door does is shudder, almost apologetically, like, “Sorry kid, you're on your own.”

I slam myself against the door as a sudden flare of panic engulfs me. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hasty in crossing out that kidnapper option. “Go away! I-I’ll call the police!”

“Why don’t we step inside and discuss this.”

“N-no! Discuss what?!” I hear the bus pass my house. Has someone seen? Maybe they’ll call for help? The rational part of mind tells me that, no, no one has seen because they’re on their phones. Even if someone did see, I probably didn’t really look like I was in grave danger.