The seconds ticked by on my cellphone while I waited outside Brad’s apartment. At precisely at 10:38, I rang the doorbell. This time I’d get it right.
Brad poked his head through the jamb, eyes droopy from sleep. “What do you want, Julia? I thought you broke up with me.”
“I need my photo back.”
“For first place in the Camp Conniption popsicle stick sculpture competition, we have two winners!” Camp Director Naomi Addison addressed the auditorium of middle school girls. “Our judges gave both Melissa Logan and Zinnia Zunk a perfect ten.”
The girls clapped as Zinnia and I came up on stage to accept our ribbons.
On the evening of June 20, the president sat alone in the Oval Office, reviewing intelligence reports. The peace talks in Paris were going well—at least enough to silence the protesters at home. His reelection committee had hit a minor snag, but they were managing it. As long as he could distract the public…
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Tax auditor Wanda Leechwell scowled at me over the stacks of receipts on her desk. “Mr. Montes, I appreciate that you were able to substantiate the amount listed under ‘Other Expenses’ on your return. But I fail to see how any of these purchases have a legitimate business purpose.”
I squirmed in my chair,
Entering the sprawling bullpen at Inter-Consolidated Global, I noticed a sprig of colorful balloons sprouting from my cubicle. Clearly someone else knew what today was.
Tina Vallejo, the cute, freckled brunette who issued my ID badge last May, taped up the last of the glistening neon streamers over my workstation. “Happy birthday, Doug!”
I leapt off the HareMaster and started my ear-obic workout. I needed hop-timal conditioning to win my eleventh Eggy award at the annual Easter Eggs-traordinary Eggs-treme Eggs-travagant Expo—so named because the sign printer ran out of Gs.
Midway through my bunny lifts, Mayor Badger shoved herself into my hole. “Hope you’re having
Saturday, February 22, my junior year of high school, was the most memorable day of my life—and the president’s.
It started the night before, when I was in my room doing trigonometry homework and listening to a replay of President Lance Quagmire’s afternoon press conference. I had to shut it off.
My New Year’s resolution this January is the result of my last online hookup. It happened like this.
“So after my dad died, my stepmom started a housecleaning business with her daughters and me. I do vents and fireplaces because I’m good with cinders.” Ella smiled at me from the other side…
“Good morning, Centerville! It’s Saturday, March 31st!”
I leapt from bed, staring wide-eyed at the nightstand clock radio. “Again?”
Rushing around my apartment, I confirmed the deejay was not pulling an April Fool’s prank. My journal ended March 30. I needed to dust and vacuum—again. And those soggy brown bananas
“Approaching coordinate J-14. Instability detected. Awaiting your instruction, Clawson.”
Safe in the Pangaea lander, Commander Rex Clawson monitored ANNIE’s progress across the desolate rocky landscape of planetoid Decimus. The drone feed indicated ANNIE stood at the precipice of a yawning gorge. Coordinate J-14 lay 9.5 meters ahead horizontally but 135.6 meters straight down.
I swim to the bar of the Trendy Anemone nightclub and hail the fuchsia-haired, green-skinned mermaid bartender, squinting at her name badge. “Hey, uh… Mara. What have you got that’s, uh, free?”
Amazing. I finally managed to telepath through a whole question without a drop leaking into my mouth. I probably moved my lips, though.
“Phraxy, when are you going to marry me like you promised?”
Determined not to let Bilhah’s childish pout sway him, chief architect Aphraxad kissed her forehead and caressed her ebony hair. “Oh, my feisty desert bloom, I beg for your patience.” He gestured out the window of the earthen hut serving as his office.
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