Lyza didn't really wake up right away. She became conscious, but her mind was foggy and groggy and any other type of -oggy. She slipped in and out of a dream. But, with every lapse over the line of here and there, she forgot what she dreamt of.
At last, she opened an eye.
Her head hurt. Her throat hurt a little too. It felt like she had a piece of spinach caught in the back of her tonsils. She remembered flecks of her last dream; she was rushing somewhere, but she couldn't think where or why.
She looked at the big clock on her bedside table. It was nine, Monday morning, and the shape of the day was—Monday!?
Lyza threw off her covers, fell out of bed with a tumble, banging her still-sore knee. She groaned, clutching it, but she fought the pain. She burst out of her room, crossing the hall into the bathroom and stubbed her toe on her stool. Again, fighting pain, she gripped her toothbrush and toothpaste, pooted a blob on the bristles and crammed it in her mouth.
"Mornin'," came a voice from the doorway.
She looked to her right to see her brother leaning against the threshold.
"How'd you sleep?"
"M'la'hm'skla—"
"That's good. What'd you dream about?"
She spat and leaned over, letting the stream of water pass over her lips. She caught some in her mouth and swished it around, then spat it out. "I don't have time!" She muttered; "I'm late!" She slammed her toothbrush down and ran back into her room, leaving her brother in the hallway.
"You're late? You're late? Got a really important date?"
"I gotta get dressed," she shouted from inside her room.
"No time to say hello? Goodbye? Just late, just late, just late?"
"You're not helping you doo-doo-head! Don't come in!"
"I slept good, thanks for asking," he said through the small crack in the door, ajar.
"Glad to hear it."
"What are you late for?"
She growled. "School you doofus! I overslept!"
"You have to go to school today?" He asked, leaning against the wall with a soft thump.
"Duh, it's Mon-day," she replied with an inflection. She appeared at the threshold, dressed for the day except for the sour expression on her face. "Ms. Hupp is gonna be so mad at me..."
"Why?" Her brother asked, dumbly.
Her ears fell. "Cuz. I'm. Late. For school!" She stated with a stamp of her foot at each emphatic word. Her ears snapped back up. "So are you! What the heck are you doing? Why didn't you wake me up?"
He shrugged. "Cuz I don't have to go to school today."
She raised a brow. "Senior skip day?"
He shrugged again, "Well, see, in 1963 there was a man who had a dream that, for the most part, has come true today. His presence was so influential that his birthday was deemed a national holiday, which means no school."
She shook her head, "Wait... Wait... Today's a holiday?"
He nodded. "Yup."
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" She fussed.
"I tried to, but you were all like 'I'm laaaate,'" his voice rose to imitate his sister's.
Her ears swiveled back and she scowled. "You are such a fart-face!" She snapped, and slammed the door.
He flinched. "Ouch my nose!" He said, although it didn't actually make any contact.
"Good," she muttered, "I hope you learned a lesson."
"Hey, c'mon now..." He knocked at the door. "I'm-a sor-reh, don't be mad..."
"Go away!"
He tilted his mouth. Maybe he was a little bit too mean this morning. "Okay," he said, a serious tone on his tongue, "Maybe if you're not mad at me later I can take you out to get some breakfast or something?" He waited a moment for a response and, when he didn't get one, sighed, tapped the floor with his toe a couple times, and went back into his room.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, back in her pajamas and back in bed, Lyza rolled over, unable to fall back asleep. She stared at the light reflecting off of her pink nose, sniffed in a bit of the sunshine and sneezed.
"Bless you," her brother's muffled shout came from through the walls.
She sat up, getting used to the cold air akin to the way one gets used to cold pool-water at the turn of summer. She shoved her hands beneath her rear to keep them from freezing entirely. The house snapped and popped as it often did. She assumed the house was popping its joints just like hers sometimes did in the cold.
Her throat was still sore. She hoped she wasn't going to get sick. She hated sore-throats most of all because it wasn't something you could stay home from school for, and it was much more annoying than a headache. And the only thing that made it feel better was either grape-yuck or numb-yuck. She didn't like either, especially the numb-yuck. It always got on her tongue and then she couldn't speak right for a little while.
Well... She spoke worse than she normally did, anyway.
Adjusted to the cold, she slipped her right foot out of the covers. Her feet felt sweaty in their socks, as they often did in the morning. She would have to change them; and so she slipped them off and let them drop to the floor. Again she was relieved that wood did not get as cold as tile. With a new pair of orange socks, she made her way back into the bathroom. Their floor was not usually very cold, but the toilet seat...
Running her hands under warm water, she followed the routine of looking at her mark. She combed her short head-fur to make it all go one way, and then left the room to darkness. She paused in the hallway for a few moments, listening. Her brother's room was awfully quiet. Sometimes he played music when their parents weren't home, but maybe he wasn't now because he thought she was sleeping. Still...without the music it felt uneasily quiet.
She stepped up to her brother's door, her footfalls muffled by orange-colored cotton. She pressed her ear against the light-colored wood. She half-expected her brother to be on the other side of the door right now, and in just a second he would start banging on it, or open it, to startle her. He seemed to be in that kind of mood today, the fart-head.
But, as the moments passed by, nothing happened to her, and in fact she did hear something on the other side of the door. It was very soft, very feint, but she knew it was the sound of a page turning.
She knocked.
"Who could that be?" He asked, as if to himself.
"It's me," Lyza said with a croak, and then cleared her throat to say it again a little more clearly.
"Hello me, you can come in."
Lyza opened the door just a little, enough to let her head in.
Kval smiled at her, lying on his bed. A book sprouted from his torso. After there wasn't a word for a moment, he finally said, "Wassup?"
"Nothing," she said softly, anxious of disturbing the room. "You were just really quiet in here."
"I was being quiet so you could go back to sleep," he replied.
Her ears bobbed. "I don't think I can... I got so excited earlier..."
He sighed. "Shoulda left a note," he muttered, closing the book and setting it on his chest.
"Left what note?"
He crossed his feet and patted the bed beside him. "I didn't remember it was a holiday till last night after you went to bed," he explained as she came and sat on the bed beside him. "I snuck into your room and turned your alarm off so you could sleep in. I should've left a note rather than being a fart-head."
She slapped his arm gently. "You weren't being a fart-head you were being nice," she grumbled, guiltily.
He rolled his eyes, "Yeah, well..."
"I'm sorry for yelling this morning. And for hurting your nose," she apologized, looking at it to make sure it wasn't broken or sore. Her brother only chuckled. She looked at the book beside her. "Whatchya readin'?"
Silently he flipped the book over, as it was set down with the synopsis showing.
Lyza saw a weird picture of a mouth with really bad teeth, and flames. "What's A Clockwork Orange?" She asked, reading the title.
"Aside from it being a book," he replied, "Not really sure. Just a weird title."
"It looks scary," she remarked with a shiver.
"It kind of is," he concurred.
"Why're you reading it if it's scary?"
He smiled, "My psychology teacher said I'd like it. And I do."
"Is it a psychology book?"
"Kind of," he replied, "It's a story that has some psycho-la-fo-lo-gic-aff-ab-al stuff in it," he replied, botching the word with quick syllables.
Lyza squinted. "Are you making fun of me?"
He shook his head, "No, I'm not. Honest."
She tilted her head, examining the creepy cover again. "Whassit about?"
Kval smiled, but it sort of fell and came back after a few seconds. "Well uh... It's about this kid. He's a pretty bad kid. He does lots of bad stuff, and then he gets in trouble for it. These people take him and put him in a chair and make him look at bad things while listening to this music that he really-really likes. Then, when he's back home, he tries to listen to the music, but he can't, because it makes him feel terrible."
Lyza shuddered. "That sounds horrible. Why would you want to read something like that?"
Kval bit his lip. "Well... Um... Psychology?"
"What kind of bad things does the kid do?" His sister asked.
He bit his lip a little harder. "Listen, maybe we should get some breakfast." He tossed the book aside and sat up. "I was thinking maybe IHOP; you can get one of those smiley-face pancakes with chocolate and—" He noticed the expression on her face.
It was indigo.
"I'd rather just stay here," she said, straightening her left sock.
The brother watched his sister's behavior. "Are you sure? It'll be fun, and afterwords we can go anywhere you want."
She shook her head. "No... My—my knee still hurts a little. I think I just wanna be kinda lazy today."
He tenderly rubbed her right leg, "You need something to kill the pain?"
Why you wanna kill Spain?
"N—Nah..." Lyza said airily, her eyes darting away.
"You sure? I think we've got some Tylenol for you. If we don't I can always run and—"
"I don't want anything!" She snapped.
Kval blinked several times, his mouth hinged open to show his incisors. Slowly the tension slacked and he let slip his held breath.
"Guess...I can't do anything for you, then," he said against the lump in his throat. His sister snuggled against him, hugging his arm and holding his hand which he had balled into a fist.
She began to uncurl the fist one finger at a time, starting with the pinkie. When it was fully released, he wiggled them, glancing at her..
She was looking at him from an odd angle, and her eyes darted away for a second before returning. She blinked a couple times, refreshing the glaze over the caramel, and quietly spoke against his bicep.
"Can you make smiley-face pancakes?"
At first he didn't move or anything, almost like he was in a trance and didn't hear her. But then, abruptly, his ears shifted weight. He looked further up at the ceiling, thinking for a moment, and then cupped her hand in his. "If we've got mix, chocolate syrup, whipped cream and cherries... Yeah, I think I can." He smiled. "And if we don't I'll go get it."
She giggled and hugged him. "Nah, if we don't, I'm okay with—"
He scooped her into his arms as he sat up, carrying her to the kitchen; "If my little sister wants smiley-face pancakes, my little sister gets smiley-face pancakes."
