It's a Little Haywire Read Free Page A

steps bite my feet.
Dang. I forgot my slippers again. Cold feet and a full bladder
equals not good.
    Al-most. There.
    Pull the string hanging from the ceiling
that turns on the light.
    Ahh. Relief.
    Okay, now I can focus.
    Oh, yeah, I’m in the dungeon. This room
scared the eebie jeebies out of me when I was a kid. It’s still
kind of eerie. Low unfinished ceilings and small windows that
barely let in any light because they are grimy and full of cobwebs.
My lungs fill with the musky smell of rotting wood and dried up
potatoes left in the cellar. A work bench is covered with old
fashion tools. The shelves along the side wall are mostly empty now
since Gran died. When I was little, they were full of canned
stuff.
    Anyway, it’s why I don’t use the
bathroom in the middle of the night.
    Gramps is brewing coffee when I get back
to the kitchen. I grab a bowl and empty a box of cereal into
it.
    “We’re out of cereal, Gramps,” I
say.
    “I noticed.” He joins me at the table.
“We’re out of a few things. Maybe you could make a run to Don
Chan’s for me today?”
    Don Chan runs the General Store.
Yup, the General Store . No big
box stores in Haywire. No Ralphs, no Shop N Save, no Barnes &
Noble, nada. Haywire only has one gas station for Pete’s sake.
    “Sure, Gramps,” I say. Not like I
have anything exciting planned
for day two of my exile. In fact, saying “hi” to Mr. Chan will
likely be the most exciting moment of my day.
    “How’d you sleep?” Gramps asks.
    That’s when I remember the crazy fog
train and the thing that popped out of the caboose.
    Did that really happen last night?
    Or was it a dream?
    The whole thing feels kind of fuzzy. I’m
not sure. I decide to wait on telling Gramps.
    “Yeah, slept like a rock.”
    Gramps nods then takes a sip of his
coffee.
     
    Okay, so I’m at the General Store. I
have Gramps’ list in one hand and a plastic basket in the other. I
don’t know where anything is in this store. I don’t know where
anything is in any store—my mom does the shopping! But, it’s just a
few things. How hard can it be?
    I look at Gramps’ shaky handwriting. I
can barely make it out. Box of cereal, my choice (he told me this
as I walked out the door), carton of milk, peanut butter, jam,
bread.
    The milk’s easy since the coolers are at
the back wall. I grab a small carton, enjoying the blast of cold
air that rushes out when I open the door. The rest of the items
seem to disappear in the mass. I find myself in front of the candy
rack. I remembered to bring my wallet this time. I toss a couple
candy bars in my basket and a pack of Gummi Bears.
    A bell rings over the door. An actual
bell hanging from a string that gets knocked by the door when it
opens. This is how Mr. Chan knows he has customers. I figure a lot
of time can go by in between.
    I turn and my stomach pinches a bit.
Mikki, aka, Mikala, is pulling a wagon through the door. Her little
sisters are sitting in it, back to back. She’s having trouble
getting them over the door jam. No modern automatic doors here. I
step over to hold it open for her.
    “Hi Mikala,” I say, once she’s got
everyone in safely.
    She tilts her head. “Hello, Owen True.”
Then she pulls her wagon down an aisle. “Opal, Ruby, don’t touch
nothin’.”
    I don’t mean to follow her. It’s not
like the store’s exactly huge or anything, but Mikala keeps looking
over her shoulder giving me dirty looks. I step back to keep my
distance.
    The peanut butter and jam are beside
each other (thankfully) and then I spot the cereal. See, this
shopping business is easy peasy.
    When I get to the counter, Mikala is
already there. She pushes a tin of tuna toward Mr. Chan who rings
it in. He tells her the price, she hands him a fist full of
coins.
    Somehow I imagine her digging through
their sofa looking for change.
    She gives me a sideways glance as Mr.
Chan counts pennies, nickels and dimes. Her gaze lands on my basket
settling on the candy bars.
    She