May 31, 2002

Skool is finally out for the summer! I slept until 9 o'clock this morning, and went downstairs for breakfast. Gaz was still asleep, so I had to make sure not to wake her up. Dad was sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee, and I sat at the other end of the table. Mark had almost certainly told him about my performance in the maze. What would dad say to me? Not much. He didn't seem to notice I was there, just like usual.

Finally, he spoke. "Mark told me" He had heard. Would he try to lock me up again? If he was, he was being very calm about it this time. "that he thinks you would be a good choice for the experiment. He thinks you possess the exact qualities that the experiment is supposed to counteract. What worries me, though, is that you could suffer other mental problems. What he tells me is that you are in 'perceptive overdrive.' He says you pick up on things the rest of us don't, but I am convinced it's simply delusions." That last statement sent a twinge of hatred through my veins. He tells me right to my face that I am deluded! Well, it's better than telling everyone I'm insane as if I can't hear him and don't understand. He probably does think I can't understand.

After a sip of coffee, he continued. "The experiment is designed to purge you of all the delusions and hallucinations you suffer from in your day to day life. Your 'aliens' won't bother you anymore." He was severely pushing it. I felt like I would jump up and strangle him against my will. I gripped the seat of my chair, nervously, trying to hold myself back. "What could happen, though," he went on, "is that your senses will be dulled too much, and you would be a vegetable. Or possibly something would go wrong leaving you worse off than you are. Or maybe the experiment will have no effect. You will be the first person to ever be tested; it has only been done on animals, like that hamster. What's its name again, Poop, is it?" He didn't even remember the hamster's name. "Pepsi." I answered. He smiled, nodding his head. "Ah, I knew it was some brand of cola. But anyway, Pepsi was the first success we had with it. In previous trials, nothing happened at all. I just want you to be prepared for any glitches in the experiment. If you agree, that is. You know, I can't force you to do this. You deserve to make your own decision."

I had to consider this one carefully. I could barely remember this man taking part in my life before, so why did he deserve this favor from me now? This was more than a favor; this could mean life or death. I wanted to say no. I was beyond afraid of what would happen to me. And more than that, I didn't trust my dad to keep me safe. My brain screamed, "No! Say no!" over and over. But for some reason I can't identify, I said yes. One thing I considered was how people would see me as a whole new person at skool next year. Then they would know I'm not crazy.

June 1, 2002

The experiment is scheduled for June 5th, but I'm being moved into the lab until then so they can monitor me for now. At least I don't have to be near the animal room. I will sleep on a cot in a room near my dad's office. More people know about the experiment than I thought. Nurses, secretaries, and scientists from the lab all came to encourage me. It was freaky to have all these people I don't even know come up and tell me that it will all be okay. Apparently, they are putting a tiny chip in my head. The idea of my dad working on my head isn't comforting. I don't want to be awake during the operation, but I really don't want to be unconscious and not know what he's doing to me.

I felt better when Miss Palmer stopped by because she knew I was here. One of my dad's guards wouldn't let her, but I got out for a minute to talk to her anyway. She had a blonde girl from my literature class with her. That was Kat. I had heard she was there because she was suicidal and did all these strange things to herself, but no one I know is really sure. She only came to Extra Mile last November. Miss Palmer said, "Hello, Dib. How are you doing?" I told her I was a little tired, but okay. Kat smiled at me and told me she would be thinking about me all the time. It was odd to hear that from a girl I barely knew. Kat and I had worked together on a literature project once, and that was the only time we had ever really interacted. But still, I remembered it. It was nice to know someone didn't think I was a lunatic. I smiled and told her thanks.

I talked with them for a while about nothing in particular, but it made me feel more relaxed than I could ever remember being. Then someone who works for dad said I had to go back in to run the maze. I didn't really want to, but I said goodbye to Miss Palmer and Kat. Kat said, "I'll come see you after the operation if I can." I said okay, and she left. It was strange. I had never felt this way about anyone before. There was actually someone I was looking forward to seeing.

June 6, 2002

It's all over. The operation was yesterday. When I woke up this morning, there were cards and all sorts of boxes and bags all over the room. I wanted to sit up on my cot to look around at it all, but my head hurt like hell, and it feels too heavy to lift. It's mid-afternoon now, and I can get up and move around for a while, but sometimes that makes me feel dizzy. Gaz left me some old pizza, Miss Palmer and Kat gave me the latest Linkin Park CD (I've had my eye on that), and dad left some novels on my nightstand.

I remember almost nothing that happened yesterday, but I remember what happened before the operation. Some doctors put me on a table in a small room near the maze room. I didn't like all the green hands, green faces, green bodies all around me. Green. I can only relate that color to bad things. Zim, for one. Now these doctors. I wanted to hide from their prying eyes and sharp tools, but when I moved to get away, I realized that I was being held back. While I was concentrating on the "green men," someone had tied me down. Well, used steel restraints to keep me from moving my arms or legs. I hated the feeling of being trapped, and tried harder to evade their pull on me. Silence. No one responded to me; I just heard words and phrases all jumbled together. Then a voice that sounded like dad's said, "This will go fast, Dib. Count backwards from one hundred." I didn't like that because that was what they told me to do before they took my tonsils out when I was seven. I never felt like I really dropped off, and all through the surgery, I swear I could feel my insides being jostled around. But the worst of that was the blood. The bitter smell of it made me pass out finally, but not before feeling the worst physical pain I have ever experienced. I say 'physical' because the tonsils can't compare to some things people say.

I started counting, but didn't wake up until the evening. They had left bandages on, but took most of them off this morning. I'm hungry, but Gaz's pizza doesn't look like anything I want in my mouth. When I looked at it closely, I think I saw something move. Miss Palmer may come to see me tomorrow when I can have visitors. She called dad this morning but he said I needed to rest.

What worries me about this whole thing isn't the operation or dad's checking in on me. It's what I could become. If I forgot the truth of behind Zim's masquerade, or simply didn't care anymore, what would happen to the world? No one would be there to keep Zim at bay, and he could have his way with it. I don't want it all to disappear. I just want them to believe me. So everyone will know I'm not crazy. Mark asked me how I am. I told him I was okay, but he told me to tell him more about how I feel about things. More about when I'm scared or know something is wrong. That happens a lot, so he shouldn't be disappointed.

Mark also asked me if this was really my own decision. Until he asked, I thought it was, but now I'm not so sure. He asked, "Is this really what you wanted, or was there another reason?" I told him I thought that if I had this "sanity-inducing" operation, people would believe me when I told them about Zim.

"Every time I warn them about the plot he has in store for the planet, they don't listen to me," I said. Then Mark said something I didn't expect, "I believed you. Miss Palmer believed you. Kat believed you." Whether that was true or not, I'm not sure. Even if it was, three people aren't enough. The whole world has to believe me.

June 7, 2002

Miss Palmer came today. She told me Kat said hi but couldn't come today because she wasn't feeling well. The whole Kat thing was an all around puzzle, so I asked Miss Palmer what was going on. She told me, "When I told the class about your part in this experiment, only Kat seemed to care about it. She told me later that she liked working on the project with you and wanted to spend more time with you. She says you always seem like you are alone." She's right. I am alone. There's no one who actually wants to be friends with "the psychopath," so that's pretty much what happens.

"But why me?" I asked. Miss Palmer looked out the window, then back at me. "Dib, I don't know why you are so afraid of letting people be close to you, physically and emotionally. If you give her a chance, I'm sure you will get along." It's not that I don't like the idea of having a friend, someone who will always help me in the fight against Zim, but I never thought it would happen. And what would make her choose me, of all the boys at Extra Mile? All I know is every time someone has "gotten close to me" before, it ends in leaving me worse off than I was, with one more person thinking I am insane. That's gotten to be a long list. Oh well, it doesn't matter. It won't be long before Zim's secret is out and he will be out of my mind. That will be a day to remember!

Speaking of remembering, Mark asked me if I remember anything about when I was younger. I asked why, and he said he was just curious. When that comes from an adult's mouth it always mean more than just curiosity. I don't remember very much that happened to me before I was about 9 years old. That might be because I tried to shut out things I don't want to remember. He told me I may start remembering soon. I don't know what that means, but I think it has more than a little to do with the experiment.

June 9, 2002

I am out of the lab now. Dad took me home last night. I'm glad that I don't have to live there like a lab rat anymore. But it isn't much better because even though I'm out now, I spend almost as much time there as I did before anyway. I still have to do tests and race Pepsi, though. It's no better than the first race I had with her: an entrapment of fear and confusion. Why do they want to do this to me? They operate on me and use me as their bizarre little creation for everyone to gawk at, then keep the torment continuing. I'm not overreacting. No one would be able to stand the tricks and dead ends that lie in that maze.

I don't see why they have to change it every time. It's not like I ever understood it the first time, so I won't be able to figure it out the second time, or even a third. But Mark says, "No, your dad wants to make sure you always get something new to challenge you." No, I'm pretty sure my dad just wants to see me fall through holograms and crash into walls. There is a movement sensitive camera in the corner of the ceiling over the maze. I can't see it when I'm in the maze, but after a few visits to the maze room, I noticed it up there, ready for me to make mistakes. I try not to think about it, but it's like that feeling when you know someone is watching you. Except this won't go away. It follows you, not letting you out of its sights for an instant.

Pepsi is so full of herself. She always wins when we race. I try hard to get to the end, but the thought of everyone breathing down my neck, the frantic atmosphere I can't think straight when that is going on. If a hamster can handle all those things and I can't, maybe I do belong at Extra Mile and she can go the public High Skool. I could do better without the video camera. I really could. Now that I think of it, I'm not sure which is worse: thinking there's someone watching you, or knowing it beyond a shadow of a doubt. Maybe just thinking it is worse. The mind can create all levels of hell for itself, levels far worse than could ever exist above hell. My mind in particular. In a dark room, anything could be there, ghosts, goblins, aliens I jump at the slightest sound. The echo of my footsteps in an empty hall always makes me whip around to be sure no one is there.

That happened a lot at skool. I was usually the last to leave because I wanted to make sure my folder was all in order and nothing was missing. I would check my locker over and over to make sure no one could open it, especially Zim. I would leave to walk home, but my echoing footsteps would convince me that there was a person following me, hunting me down, trying to take something back from me.

Dad called me downstairs for dinner after I finished writing all the other things I wrote today. As I look at the entry, it's more than obvious to me that the effects of the operation aren't taking effect yet. But Tae, Rob, and Brian will finally believe me when I tell them about the true nature of the cashier Zim, who wants a lot more than a raise.

June 10, 2002

Kat called me this morning. I gave her my number two days before the operation when she came to see me. (I wasn't allowed to have any visitors the last day before the experiment; not even phone calls!) Today is her birthday, and she's feeling better. She asked how I am doing, and I told her that the operation must have went well, even though I don't know for sure because I slept through it. She laughed and said, "Hey, maybe I'll see you at the bookstore sometime. Which one was it you work at?"

"Dalton's."

"Yeah. I practically live at the library, so I'll try to come there." She paused, but then I heard a deep breath being taken, and she continued. "You are the only boy I know who doesn't treat girls like objects. And you want more than anything to protect a world that doesn't understand you enough to accept you. There aren't enough people like you in the world."

I wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that, but I told her, "You accept me."

We talked for about half an hour until Gaz said, "Dib, get off the phone before I threaten your manhood."

Later in the morning, Mark called the house today to talk to me. Between Gaz and me, the phone has been busy today. My right ear is ringing because I don't switch ears when I talk on the phone. I should start doing that! Mark said he felt bad because I seemed scared to come to test, so he asked if I wanted to have lunch with him today. I said okay, and we went to OffBeat, the coffee shop where all the poets and college students of the city go to talk about what's important, like religion and aliens. Things I actually care about.

The aliens part is more relevant to me personally, but religion has been a part of my life as well. My mom had some Amish relatives, and this gave her a tendency to be very religious as well. That's one of the few things I truly remember about her. Another was that I preferred her to my dad and something about her gave me a distaste for Gaz. Gaz and I were brought up as Christians, but both of us converted to the Wiccan religion at some point during middle skool. It seemed to suit us better. Mom and Dad saw it as fine for Gaz, but for me, I was in deep shit. I ended up locked in my room hearing my mom shriek, "Good Lord, he's possessed by demons!" and asking for repentance. But I don't think it was just the Wiccan religion. Gaz was more devoted to it that I was. That couldn't have been all there was to it.

OffBeat is a place where no one is weird. You'd think that it would be the type of place I could tell everyone about Zim and have them believe me, but usually everyone here is in their own circle of friends, and outsiders are talked to, but not listened to. That's the problem. I am too uniform with these people, they think I'm just another of them, high and hallucinating. I was showing people physical evidence that proves my theories on Zim, but not one truly understood the magnitude of what I was saying. An alien, walking among us, posing as a high skool guy, yet trying to come up with a way to take over Earth and destroy all humanity! When I tried my hardest to get this across to them, Mark took me by the arm and led me to a table telling me, "We can't tell anyone about this. If the wrong person finds out about it, God knows what they could do."

Sometimes I don't see the point of the experiment, and I wonder why I ever agreed to it. Nothing is coming of it, and all the work and testing does is keep me from my pursuit of Zim. And I'm tired of being forced into that maniacal prison they call a maze. My pulse quickens just thinking about it, but I know I will have to face it again all too soon.