Of course it was Bryce, but why wasn’t I just mad? He’d been such a… scoundrel.
Or happy? Why wasn’t I just happy? He’d come over to our house.
He’d stood on our driveway. He’d said nice things. We’d laughed.
But I wasn’t mad or happy. And as I lay in bed trying to read, I realized that upset had been overshadowed by uneasy.
I felt as though someone was watching me. I got so spooked I even got up and checked out the window and in the closet and under the bed,
but still the feeling didn’t go away. It took me until nearly midnight to understand what it was. It was me. Watching me.
Bryce: Looming Large and Smelly
Sunday I woke up feeling like I’d been sick with the flu. Like I’d had one of those bad, convoluted, unexplainable fever dreams.
And what I’ve figured out about bad, convoluted, unexplainable dreams of any kind is that you’ve just got to shake them off.
Try to forget that they ever happened. I shook it off, all right,
and got out of bed early ’cause I had eaten almost nothing the night before and I was starving!
But as I was trucking into the kitchen, I glanced into the family room and noticed that my dad was sacked out on the couch.
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