:Amy and Tasha are on a world saving mission to avenge Eric. Meanwhile at the author's house . . .:
"So, you like the chitterlings? They were made down south by my aunt Cloe."
Eric hesitated, the clump of meat lodging itself in his throat. "Are you telling me that this has been sent all the way from the South? By mail?"
The author eyed him suspiciously. "Yeah, is there a problem? Eric?"
"Uh, well, other than the fact that this has been sent through the mail over a number of days. . . .I'm going to be sick."
The only sound that could be heard the next few minutes was Eric, in the bathroom, trying to regurgitate his food.
The author sighed, setting down her plate and rubbing the spot where Amy had gripped her three days ago. It still hurt, and Eric had never even made a pass at her yet. She had a feeling that he would be a saint until Amy came back.
The author had stayed home, imitating her mother's voice and calling in sick. Nobody had suspected that anything was up. Not even her delusional brothers. She didn't have any friends close enough that would stop by and check up on her.
Eric had been 'hanging out' in her room for the most part. They had played Scrabble and Monopoly, all of which Eric beat her mercilessly at. They talked about Amy and her 'perfect-ness', Eric and his former basketball career, and her new fingernail polish. Which Eric admitted, 'brings out the color in your eyes' . . . so okay, maybe one pass.
They hadn't heard from Amy or Tasha yet.
Yesterday, when they had sneaked out to the backyard when her mother was at work; Eric had rattled off a bunch of terrible things that might've happened to them by now.
"It's really pathetic when you think about it." Eric muttered as he stared up at the blue sky, "I mean, I'm going out with a preteen that could kick me into next week at any given moment."
The author rolled her eyes. "Eric get over it, the girl thinks your butt's too cute to ever kick it into next week, which is, by the way, coming up rather quickly." She remarked, swatting a bug away.
A patio door a couple of lawns away slammed shut and the author and Eric leaped up, ready to bolt inside.
They listened intently.
Nothing.
They relaxed, settling back down in their spots. "This is ridiculous," Eric commented.
Nervous laughter.
"Why are you going out with a 7th grader exactly?"
"What?"
"Just answer the question."
"Well, um, at first I was hesitant, I mean, she's my sister's best friend. If anything, I should be antagonizing her. Then I really got to know her. Plus, her eyes are just so--"
"Okay, that's enough."
The author lounged in a lawn chair under the large oak while Eric lay sprawled out on the grass.
"God, I hope nothing has happened to them, like Amy getting caught by the organization. Or Mrs. Chandler being tortured into telling where the other Amy's are. Wait, that couldn't happen, she doesn't know where they are. Or maybe the organization, could take Amy and somehow-"
"Oh will you shut-up about the organization! They ain't never gonna catch that girl. Gosh, why don't you just stop worrying about it and enjoy your time here because in a couple days you're going to be going back to loony land." The only sound following her rant was the sound of a breeze rustling the leaves on the oak hanging over them.
The author sighed, snapping back to the present. How had her life been reduced to eating week old pig intestines in her room with a boy who dates clones?
Eric slipped around the corner, and into the room.
"Don't worry, when I ate it for the first time I gagged for hours, and then- never mind." The author finished quickly noticing Eric's face scrunching up like piglet's skin.
There was a beat of silence.
"Hey, author? I was wondering . . ." Eric started as he walked over to the bed, where the author sat.
"Yes?" the author said, moving over to allow room for him.
"I just wanted to know, what's your . . .name?"
The author looked startled. "M-my name?" she then got angry, "Well, I've never thought about this, but Amy and Tasha trusted me to hide you and make sure you didn't walk into any darkened ally ways; and didn't even know my name!" Her nostrils flared and her cheeks turned a deep red.
"Don't do your nose like that, you look like a bull." Eric said.
Silence.
"Author? Are you going to tell me?"
"Yeah, when Amy finally discovers what a birthday is. I mean, how long can a girl stay twelve?"
"You're changing the subject."
"No I'm not." She pouted
"And what do you mean, cause she just turned 13."
"Oh, well . . .oh whatever. My name is-"
There light footsteps sounded just outside her door
Suddenly Eric sat up straight. "I hear someone!"
"Oh my gosh! Hurry, in the closet!" The author jumped up and shoved him into the closet, throwing a stray sock in after him.
The author smoothed her shirt down and gave a quick glance at the full-length mirror at the corner of the room.
A knock on the door.
"Coming!"
the author called weakly as she walked toward the door and opened
it.
"Mom!" the author yelled a little too loudly.
Her mother, looking tired from a long day at work, eyed her strangely.
A low grunt came from the closet…
"Honey? Is your brother in there? God! I have been looking for that little boy all afternoon!" she said as she started towards the closed closet door.
The author's heart sped up.
"Mom, no!" she yelped. Her mother turned around "I-I…you can't go in there because, because he went to Todd's house to finish the rubber cement clock, remember?"
Her mother's hand fell away from the knob. "Oh yes, now I remember."
She walked back to the door. "Now I know why all those sticky streaks are left on the wall by the front door." She muttered as she walked out into the hall.
"Mom, those were there even before they started the clock."
The author's mother shut the door.
Eric fell out of the closet.
The author snapped out of her trance and ran over to Eric, helping him up. He shook her off, and stood over by the door.
"What's wrong Eric?"
He threw his hands up into the air, "Look, I'm sick and tired of hiding! I'm going to go crazy if I have to spend another day, locked up in this room!"
He stalked over to the window, threw it open and let the evening air blow in, ruffling the curtains. There was complete silence as they stood and brooded over the last few days and the days to come
The author walked over and flipped the light switch. The room darkened and moonlight lit the room with a dull glow, illuminating Eric's face. Which was distorted in worry lines.
"Eric,"
He looked up. The author slowly made her way to the other side of the room and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Amy and your sister will have everything worked out soon, and they'll come get you and you'll be fine. But before you go, there's something I've been wanting to do."
He raised his eyes in question.
"What I'm trying to say, is that ever since I saw you on the cover of book five I knew."
"You knew what?" Eric asked, looking into her eyes.
The author gulped. "I knew you'd love what I'm about to show you…"
"Oh my God, it's-it's beautiful." Eric whispered, afraid to spoil the moment.
"Isn't it?" the author gushed in pride.
They sneaked out into the dusk via the window, and were now standing on the edge of a deserted road, looking down into a large clay pit. The gray sludge filled about three fifths of the hole. Unmoving, and mysterious.
Small tufts of grass sprouted up around the mouth of the pit, a brilliant green. A contrast to the dull ash colored dirt.
"I found it when I was twelve, I remember storming out of the house after a big fight my mom and I had. I walked a while down this road and then stopped in the grass to rest. And I remember looking over and seeing this large hole half filled with clay. It was the coolest thing I had ever saw up until that point."
"Wow, do you know how deep it is?" Eric asked.
"Well, I've lost a few yard sticks in there if that's what you mean"
They laughed and sat down on the side of the road, away from the pit.
"Hey Eric, did Amy ever tell you about how we met?" the author asked.
"Yeah, through the computer and everything, and how you were trying to make her choke her science teacher", Eric replied.
The author winced, "Well, when you sum it up like that…" she muttered, "Well, that's where I threw the computer."
Eric gawked at her, "In the pit?"
"Yep. Hey, the thing ruined my life. It had to pay."
"Yeah, I guess. But still, throwing it into the clay pit..." Eric trailed off.
"I have no regrets."
They sat in silence in under the now midnight blue sky and both waited for the other to say something, when suddenly a beeping sound came from behind them.
Eric turned around, and suddenly a look of pure horror distorted his face. He leaped up, grabbing the author and spinning her around.
I'M BACK
The mighty spanking new computer sat in the grass, caked with clay and sputtering sparks.
"AHHHHHHHHH!!" the author screamed, pushing Eric over to it and yelling at him to kill it.
"Get off me! Ow!" He yelled, as a spark stuck his hand. They scrambled on to the road and stared back at it.
"Well, at least it can't walk over to us." Eric said, out of breath.
Suddenly, slowly, but surely, the cables and cords dug into the ground and slid the computer forward, inch by inch.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" the author screamed, grabbing handfuls of Eric's sweater and screaming in his ear.
"Will you STOP doing that?!" Eric shouted.
"I knew it could walk! It's like the undead! I should have read the manual! Oh God, Eric, let's get out of here now!"
"No! we have to destroy it now, or it'll find us later."
I
HAVE UNFNISHED BUISNESS WITH YOU
THERE WILL BE PAIN AS YOU CAN NOT
IMAGINE!
. . .ONCE I GET OVER TO YOU.
The author and Eric went into panic and tried to figure out what to do before the computer killed them and turned them into floppy disks.
"Eric, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have showed you the pit, it's all my fault your going to die a horrible death." the author said
"No, we're not going to die, it's a stupid, er . . . smart computer, we've got to figure out it's weaknesses."
The spanking new computer was halfway to the edge of the road. And getting closer.
"Hurry!" the author shouted
"Hey! I'm thinking here!"
The author looked over at the mud filled computer making it's way over to them, a menacing smiley face appeared on the screen. She wiped the tears from her eyes and prepared to except her certain doom. Just then sky opened up with a loud crack and a bolt of lightening, sheets of rain came pouring down.
"Author! I figured it out, go and get two large sticks and then on the count of three, we're going to hit it repeatedly! Go, quick!" Eric shouted
"Okay!" the author yelled over the raging sky.
So,
soaked to the bone, the she dashed over to the other side of the road
and retrieved two fallen branches.
When she came back to where
Eric was standing she tossed him a branch, nearly taking out his eye,
and slowly they crept over to the dismembered computer.
"Okay author." They raised their branches and—"
YOU GOT MAIL
"Wait! I have to check my mail!" The author cried and threw her stick down.
"AUTHOR! Are you insane?! Pick up the freaking piece of wood and forget about the mail!"
The author just looked at him, rain dripping from her chin
"Besides, it could just be a virus."
"Oh NO!!" the author leaped away from the computer in horror (which was now trying to get away . . .slowly), picked up her branch and counted off.
"ONE . . .TWO . . .THREE!"
In less than a minute, the mighty spanking new computer was no more.
They looked down at shattered pieces, now getting drenching in rain.
"I still have no regrets." The author said, as they tossed their clubs and walked towards home.
Eric, now also soaked through and through, laughed.
"I can't believe you were going to check your mail."
When they returned home, Amy and Tasha were there, the mission had been successful. And when they saw Eric's drenched clothes and burned hand, they demanded to know what happened. Needless to say, Amy was quite pleased by the news and decided not to despise the author forever.
On their way out, Eric thanked the author for letting him stay with her and gave her a big hug. And after the fuzzy warm feeling left the room, everyone started to feel awkward and Amy said they should leave if they wanted to be home in time for breakfast.
They quietly made their way out of the house, leaving the author to her thoughts and a pile of warm dry pajamas to change into.