One Bad Morning

Copyright 2009 by Carl Garrett

Summer Blair clawed her way out of a wet-blanket sleep. What was wrong? It couldn't be the way she'd outed Freaky Kate in the cafeteria yesterday about her crush on Chaz Foreman. That had made the whole room laugh til they cried, made Freaky Kate cry til she laughed. Then Freaky Kate had giggled, "I'll be busy, anyway. I'll be busy, anyway," to no one in particular, before stumbling back to special ed. Chaz will call me, or he'll text me, Summer thought. After yesterday, he will. But amid the happy buzz of her smartphone she thought, Why does my face itch? A supple, perfectly-manicured hand rose to touch what was now a monstrous wreck of a face, crudely-stitched sutures dancing in obscene patterns as the last of the ether wore off.

Freaky Kate, she realized, had been very busy.

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