I’m not saying
I’m a super-nerd
or a teacher’s pet
or one of those kids
who just loves every minute of school,
but being here is better
than hanging with the Hoard,
which is one of the reasons
Liam’s summer countdown calendar
gives me serious heartburn.
Or maybe it’s all the tacos
Dad and I have been eating?
* * *
If you experience bloating, belching, nausea, or belly pain after eating, you may suffer from indigestion.
Do not chew with your mouth open or eat too fast.
This makes you swallow air, which can add to discomfort.
Limit greasy, extra-sugary, or fried foods.
Avoid spicy and acidic ingredients.
Symptoms may be more intense when you’re stressed.
RELAX!
INCANDESCENT
On the day of our swim meet
I scan the bleachers,
packed with fans.
I’m so excited to see Dad
that I surprise myself
and Coach Baker
by actually winning
my backstroke event.
Way to go, bud! Dad cheers.
You are becoming increasingly hydrodynamic.
A fixed incandescent point in this natatorium.
Translation, dude? Liam whispers,
totally confused by the compliment.
I’m getting faster.
He called me a star of the pool.
Your dad always uses the weirdest words.
I know, I say, beaming.
It’s one of the reasons
I love him.
SPLASH
A man wearing a hat
with a long silver fish on the front
is talking to Coach Baker.
When Georgia sees the scout,
she turns rigid as a pole.
I worry she’ll trip and fall or
belly flop big-time.
But she climbs the ladder confidently,
steps onto the diving board,
lifts her chin.
Go, Gannet!
We clap
when she does her
front flip with a twist.
She
barely
makes
a
S
P
L
A
S
H
!
SUITS
The health effects of
extended chlorine exposure
haven’t been adequately studied,
so I err on the side of caution
and shower quickly but thoroughly
after swim meets and practices.
Though mostly
I’m grateful for the chance
to bathe somewhere other than
the grimy, cluttered bathrooms
at home.
Before leaving the locker room,
my teammates and I
hang our new race suits
on hooks in the locker room,
forming a row of practically identical
Wedgie Makers.
It would be easy
to mix them up.
I’ll write my name
on the tag later.
Dad’s waiting for me now.
SMALL VICTORIES
When the hostess at the restaurant
asks our name for the wait list,
Dad rattles off a bunch of letters
that do not spell Brey.
Ten minutes later
the intercom booms,
Communist, party of two!
Now seating
the Communist party!
Dad’s amusement is contagious.
By the time we land in the booth,
our stomachs ache
with laughter.
Over root-beer floats
as big as our faces,
we toast to my small victory
in the pool.
Then Dad dives in,
describing quantum mechanics
with the same enthusiasm
Coach Baker reserves for swim meets:
intense eyes,
wild hand gestures,
occasional hollers.
When he doesn’t notice
the vanilla ice cream
smeared across his bushy beard,
I hand him a napkin.
How embarrassing!
He grins, wiping his face clean.
Gee, bud,
what would I do
without you?
The waitress delivers our cheeseburgers
and asks if she can get us anything else.
Dad surveys the table.
A tomato-based condiment, please.
And the third largest city in North Dakota.
Pardon?
Hint: It’s not Bismark
or Fargo!
She stares blankly at us.
We need ketchup
and some forks, please, I say,
stepping in as translator.
Yes! That’s my boy!
Grand Forks it is!
Population 56,057.
The waitress sighs before setting some silverware
and a bottle of Heinz on the table.
So, bud, Dad says, spearing a pickle
with the third largest city in North Dakota.
We’ve been having heated debates
about mathematical space-time models at work.
I’m curious: what are your theories
regarding the origin and ultimate fate
of the universe?
He’s 100 percent serious.
This is his idea
of casual dinner conversation.
I describe an article I read online
and tell him about an experiment we did
in science class, trying to connect
concepts I barely understand.
He nods, his eyes bright.
Away from the Hoard,
unplugged
from his headphones,
he listens, lips quirked
in an eager smile.
Then he fills in the gaps
of my half-baked
explanations and observations
with shimmery specks of brilliance.
Somehow taking all the garbage
that tumbles out of my mouth
and constructing something
incredible.
Yes, I say.
That. Exactly.
Spectacular! he hoots,
jotting down notes and numbers
on a fresh napkin.
I wish I’d thought of that!
He scratches his chin.
Hey, bud…
Yeah, Dad?
You amaze me.
You really do.
Thanks, Dad.
If only I could perform
that same magic trick at home—
transform the Hoard
into something beautiful.
Something to make me feel
proud
and amazed.
Instead of
all the hard-to-name
emotions
I’m collecting
inside.
GOOD RIDDANCE
On Wednesday morning
; an unexpected
ray of hope—
Keith is moving to Seattle.
Ms. Treehorn throws a goodbye party,
wishes him good luck at his new school
Liam, Georgia, and I exchange glances
silently saying, Good riddance!
We toast paper cups of fruit punch,
celebrating
one less bully
to make our lives miserable.
Across the room,
Tyson’s face
turns to stone,
cold and mean,
like a grumpy gargoyle.
Not even chocolate chip mini-muffins
cheer him up.
* * *
If you are indoors when an earthquake strikes, take cover beneath a desk, table, or doorway.
Stay clear of windows and gas lines.
If you are outside, move to an open area, away from falling structures or debris.
PREPARE FOR AFTERSHOCKS!
DOORBELL
Later that week
we play hockey
in Liam’s living room
which is as different from mine
as imaginable,
with polished wood floors,
ample open space,
and a couch you can actually sit on.
Georgia stands in front
of the coffee table goal,
covered with makeshift padding
I insisted she wear for safety.
I feel like a human marshmallow! She giggles.
Well, you look like a sumo wrestler, Liam says.
Uhh, thanks?
I secure more pillows to her arms and legs
with bungee cords that Liam found
in a neatly organized utility closet.
The simple fact that he could easily locate them
is a miracle to me.
The hazard-free floor is another miracle.
So is Georgia’s laugh.
I decide she has the second-best laugh in the world.
(After Mom’s, of course.)
TRASH TALK
Liam is a magnificent
trash-talker.
Want my autograph now or later?
They call me Matchstick ’cause I’m on FIRE!
Oh, really?
I heard Principal Rodriguez say you were on thin ice!
Shhh! You evil eavesdropper! He nabs the ball.
I chase, slash
his quick ankles.
Booya! Booya!
Send my fan mail to www-dot-Liam-rules-dot-com!
Crocodile mouth, armadillo butt!
What does that even mean?
Wouldn’t you like to know! Ha-ha!
I’m mid–slap shot
when the doorbell
rings.
DOORBELL DREAD
We pause the game
to see who it is.
I hope it’s not Georgia’s dad,
coming to pick her up so soon.
Sharon walks down the hallway, yoga-calm.
She opens the front door
not just a sliver,
not a crack,
W – I – D – E O – P – E – N.
My pulse quickens,
my hands grow clammy
as I imagine
what would happen
if someone came to my house
unannounced
and stuck their head
inside.
Oh. It’s just Audrey from across the street, Liam tells us.
Sometimes the mail carrier accidentally delivers
our packages to her house.
Come on. Let’s get back to our game.
I can feel Georgia watching me.
You okay? she asks,
her voice muffled
behind all those pillows.
Yeah. My mouth is dry,
my skin feels hot,
but I try to act cool.
Are postal mix-ups included
in that handbook of yours? she teases,
nudging my elbow.
Nah. I shake my head
and force a chuckle.
I make a mental note
to add Uninvited Visitors
to my growing list of
disasters worth preparing for.
When I get home, I’ll inspect our locks and bolts.
∞ ∞ ∞
I wish I could stay
at Liam’s house
all weekend,
with its clean floors,
home-cooked meals,
and open front door.
But Lindsay invited a bunch of her friends over,
and Liam warns me to get out
while I still can.
Save yourself! he cries, pretending to
gouge out his eyeballs.
If only I could
offer him refuge
from the incoming swarm of
hair-tossing,
lip gloss–smacking
gossip-yappers.
∞ ∞ ∞
Before I leave
I let Liam flip through my orange book.
It’s alphabetized by scenario, I tell him.
He says there must be a chapter missing between
Gila monsters and
Halitosis.
I double-check but
unfortunately
there’s nothing in there about
Girls.
Just like Uninvited Visitors,
lots of things in life
don’t come with instructions.
* * *
Gila monsters are sluggish yet venomous.
If you are bitten, remove the lizard as quickly as possible.
Pry open the animal’s mouth with a stick, knife, or other tool.
Wash the wound with antibacterial soap.
Call your local animal control and poison centers.
Seek treatment at the nearest medical facility.
Ensure your tetanus immunizations are up-to-date.
Watch for signs of infection.
There is no antivenin for Gila monster bites.
BEWARE!
HEATSTROKE
I ride my bike home.
It’s almost eighty degrees outside
and it’s only February.
At this rate,
summer will be a
doozy.
After just five minutes,
I feel like I’m going to faint.
Thankfully the Henny Penny is only a block away.
I sip from the drinking fountain,
then browse the air-conditioned aisles
for almost an hour,
until Mrs. Finnick tells me to stop loitering
and get lost.
∞ ∞ ∞
By the bike rack
my ears ring.
I swear I hear:
Filthy.
Pathetic.
Loser.
My book says
dizziness and confusion
are symptoms of heatstroke,
so I visit the fountain one last time.
Filthy!
Pathetic!
Loser!
I lift my head,
wipe water from my lips.
I see Tyson (minus his usual sidekick),
sluggish, venomous,
snickering by the shopping cart corral.
I jump back on my bike.
At least the b
lazing heat
stops him
from chasing me.
SMELLS
Ms. Treehorn told us
one’s sense of smell
is most closely linked
to memory.
She’s probably right,
because whenever I’m at the Henny Penny
and I get a whiff
of jasmine
or licorice
or rubbing alcohol
my skin gets prickly.
For one teensy
tiny
second
I think maybe,
just maybe,
Mom is in the next aisle over
buying more of that lotion
that made her hands soft as flower petals.
Or nibbling jelly beans from the candy counter,
the black ones that no one else ever buys.
Or picking up groceries after work,
that clean-hospital smell lingering on her clothes.
NEW SMELLS
There’s a reason
perfumes don’t contain
notes of
unwashed laundry,
soured milk,
musty mildew,
stewed garbage,
thousand-year-old burrito.
These are the smells
that have replaced
jasmine and licorice and rubbing alcohol.
These are the smells that
assault me, remind me
day after day
that the Hoard
is winning.
That Tyson
is right
about me.
* * *
The symptoms of heatstroke include core body temperature above 104°F, fainting, headache, dizziness, rapid heartbeat, and muscle weakness.
If you suspect you may be suffering from severe heatstroke, immediately seek medical help. In the meantime, move to an air-conditioned environment or shady area.
Reduce all physical activity. Drink plenty of fluids.
Remove any heavy, tight, or unnecessary clothing.
Cool off with cold compresses, showers, or baths.
CHILL OUT!
Worst-Case Collin Page 6
