“Dude, you okay?”
I’m doubled over the bathroom sink, trying to quiet the weirdness in my head. Stoner Kevin’s voice sounds like it’s coming from deep inside a tunnel.
“Seriously, you don’t look so good.”
“I think I ate something bad,” I manage.
Something really bad. Something that might be warping me on a genetic level.
He gives me a knowing grin. “Awww, duuuude! Are you ’shrooming? Oh, man, you are totally taking the Psilocybin Express to Club Mushroom Med, admit it!”
In the bathroom mirror, my face is paler and more gaunt than usual. My eyes are huge and haunted. Under my skin, my nerve endings seem to twitch and burn, smoldering match heads just blown out and wispy with smoke.
“You look wrecked, my man. Why don’t you ditch? Take off, enjoy the ride.”
“Can’t. I’m nearly failing Spanglish. One more absence and I’m gone.”
“Dude. Sucks.”
The bell rings. It clangs in my head like a gong played through a megastack of amps.
“Come on,” Stoner Kevin says. “I’ll sit next to you in class. Help you out.”
“You’re in my Spanglish class?” I ask.
“Uh … yeah.” He grabs my backpack for me.
“The whole year?” I try to picture him in there and can’t.
“Dude. Yeah.” Kevin shakes his head, laughs. “Whole year. Don’t you remember?”
No. I don’t.
“Yeah. Just messing with you,” I say, and let Stoner Kevin lead the way to class, because I’m having trouble remembering that, too.
“You should have all read the assigned chapters in Don Quixote over the weekend. Remember this will be on the state SPEW test,” Mr. Glass says, erasing the blackboard and writing the word THEME in the center. He underlines it just in case we missed it. “Who would like to start today’s discussion?”
“Can’t be a discussion if we’re just supposed to spit back what the state’s looking for on the SPEW,” the Goth girl behind me snipes.
Mr. Glass scans the room, seeking out those who are friendly to his “let’s get jazzed about forced reading” rap. He knows to overlook me. The weird muscle twitches in my leg haven’t stopped. And from the corner of my eye, I think I see flames licking at the walls. When I turn my head, they’re sucked back in. It’s the lack of sleep, I tell myself. Unless I get good and wasted, I can’t manage more than an hour or two. I’m so exhausted I’m seeing shit.
“Anybody?” Mrs. Rector asks when no one answers Glass’s prompt. “Miss Rodriguez?”
Our future valedictorian doesn’t disappoint. “Sampson Carrasco comes up with a way to trick Don Quixote into accepting his life and his place in society and, eventually, his death.”
“Yes, very good, and how does he do that? Remember—you must cite examples from the text. That’s what you’ll do on the test. Don’t overthink it—too much thinking will kill you on the SPEW test.”
“Well, instead of telling him that he’s crazy or he can’t do this, he can’t do that, he encourages him to go on all these adventures. But Sampson disguises himself and goes along.”
“Yes. And why does he do that … Mr. King?”
“Me? Aw, I’m sorry, Mr. Glass. I didn’t read it.”
“Why not, Mr. King?”
“I object on religious grounds.”
Mr. Glass rolls his eyes as Chet’s football buddies snicker. My head feels like it could explode. Like I need to scream or hit somebody. And just like that, my left arm gets a rogue message and jerks out.
Mr. Glass squints in my direction. “Yes, Mr. …” He has to consult his class roster to remember who I am. “Smith? You must have had something you wanted to add?”
“No. I …” The buzzing in my ears is getting worse. “Stop it!”
The football guys start humming the annoying theme song from a classic sci-fi show. A fresh wave of laughter travels over the class and Mrs. Rector has to shush them; it’s all like a detonation to my ears. Press my palms to my head. Stop, stop, stop.
“Come on, Mr. Smith. Venture out of your shell.” Yeah, f**k you, too, Mr. Glass. Man, my head. “Why does Sampson Carrasco travel with Don Quixote in disguise? To trick him?” Stop. Please. “To lure him? To help him? Why …”
“Because …” The buzzing inside me is so intense I can’t take it anymore. “Because … fuck off!”
