Last Day of School

In the early morn of a foggy Monday, Oz did something he should have been doing since the day a six-year-old Fanboy was put in his care: sat down and talked with him alone, man-to-man. Climbing the stairs to the terrace took more effort than he expected. He huffed and heaved, thanking the Lord for the cool weather. He would've been sweating buckets otherwise.

He hauled his bulky self to the door, took a moment to catch his breath, and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Curious, he pressed his ear to the door. Normally, the muffled sounds of video games, television, or Fanboy's lively chatter would emit from behind the solid wooden walls. He swallowed. A quiet Fanboy meant one of three things: either he was napping, reading, or dead.

Fearing the odds, Oz knocked harder and the door gave way. He stepped inside and wrinkled his nose. It smelled musky. If Fanboy was cleaning himself, he was doing it incorrectly.

Oz coughed and peered into the dim lair. "Dude? It's me. The Oz."

From the loft came a small sound of acknowledgment. Oz sighed in relief and advanced to the stairs, preparing himself for what to say. All of his confidence vanished when he reached the loft and saw the state of the young boy. He fought back the urge to recoil.

Fanboy was curled up in the bed across from his own, pressing a pillow to his chest. He'd taken every single plush cover from around the water tower and piled it on top and around himself. It looked as if he were being crushed beneath a mountain of cushions. His visible eye slowly opened, bloodshot and bleary as he stared at Oz.

The man forced himself to sit on the edge of Fanboy's now barren bed, which squeaked under his weight, adjusting his leather jacket. He folded his large hands in his lap and tried to keep himself from tearing up.

"Tomorrow's the big day, Lil' dude," he sighed. He wasn't sure how to word this in a way that could make Fanboy remember, and often wondered if that was either due to short-term memory loss or coping mechanisms. Either way, Fanboy needed to know what was going to happen.

"First thing in the morning, we're driving to Rockwells to check you in. Mom and I will drop off your things in the afternoon, and then we're going to check back on you at dinnertime." He paused, watching Fanboy's face. "Sound good?"

It was as if he hadn't said a word. Fanboy was absent, giving the occasional sniff.

Oz took a deep breath. "Dude, can you answer me?"

Nothing.

"Fanboy, I need to know if you understand what I'm saying," the man pressed. "Please."

Fanboy's visible eye twitched. He gave another small sound of assent. Oz nodded, somewhat relieved.

"I know you're like, seriously nervous, right?" Oz ventured, remembering what his mom instructed him to ask. "I know I'd be."

Fanboy gave no inkling that he even heard the man. Instead, he groaned, shifting and disrupting the mountain of cushions. Oz carefully steadied the mass. When he looked down, Fanboy was staring back up at him, his expression indecipherable. Oz swallowed. He was no father figure. He didn't know how to comfort a child in distress. Not properly, anyway. He wasn't even really a guardian. Just an older friend that Fanboy looked up to.

"Oz?" Fanboy croaked. "I wanna see Chum Chum."

The man smiled nervously and ran a hand through his black hair. He crouched and put a large hand over his charge's smaller one. "I know you do, Lil' dude. That's what the doctors are going to help you with."

Fanboy's brows furrowed. "Doctors?" That seemed too good to be true. Doctors were miracle workers, but they couldn't just resurrect his dead best friend. Especially since nobody seemed to know where the body was. The thought made his stomach clench.

He couldn't get what Yo had said out of his head, calling him sick and denying Chum Chum's very existence. It confused him, made the space behind his eyes hurt. Every time he thought too hard about it, he made himself sick with anxiety.

Chum Chum isn't real and he never has been.

"She's wrong," Fanboy said aloud, catching Oz off-guard. "She doesn't know. Doesn't what she's talking about. No. No. No."

Oz was at a loss. He was going to let the doctors pick up where he left off.

"You're gonna be just fine." Oz patted his hand and stood. "It may take years, but Yo will help—" He looked away, a trace of guilt staining his features. Fanboy didn't miss it. "—We're all here for you. Seriously."

Oz waited for a few moments for a response. When Fanboy said nothing, the man gave up and began his descent back to his shop.

After Oz left, Fanboy drifted off, but it wasn't long before he was jolted awake by a torrent of nightmares. He gasped, clutching at his chest as the mountain of pillows toppled. A few pelted him in the face while the rest flopped uselessly to the floor. He'd only gotten two hours of sleep at that time. He'd always had a healthy sleeping schedule, and even during Chum Chum's infamous Night-Morning escapade, he'd gotten more shut-eye than this.

He considered his options. Staying in bed would lead to more bad dreams, but he needed the rest. Leaving for school would serve as a useful distraction, but he would end up more fatigued.

"Uoy wonk tahw uoy deen. Em. You don't need Chum Chum anymore ."

Fanboy's heart plummeted. "Sh-Shut up," he whispered. He covered his ears, but it did little to help. The voice was deeper, skirting around the edges of his brain and prodding at it like a parasite.

He made up his mind to leave. Whatever was outside couldn't hurt him any more than what was here, whatever was speaking to him. He forced himself out of bed and stumbled as the blood rushed to his legs. His senses were malfunctioning. Everything was muddled like he was swimming underwater.

With a yawn, Fanboy fell from the loft to the floor with a tired thud and trudged to the door, skipping another meal.

School. He needed to get to school.

"That is what Chum Chum would want," he mumbled. "Wouldn't he?" He would never know.

After a blurry hike through town, Fanboy made it to class right before the bell rang. He could feel his classmate's stares burning at the back of his head as he trudged to his desk. It was the first time he'd traveled around maskless.

As Fanboy took his seat at the back, the students all began to whisper, but he was too tired and miserable to care. He stared at his freshly scrubbed desktop, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the shiny stained surface. He looked awful. Probably smelled awful too.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. Slowly, he turned his head.

Yo was sitting beside him, smiling. She looked a lot better from the last time he saw her. "Hi."

Fanboy managed a small smile, but it quickly faded when he realized where she was sitting. It was Chum Chum's old desk, the one he'd saved for his little buddy since the first day of school that autumn. To him, that was sacred ground she had no business in. A flicker of anger traveled up his spine.

Yo must've recognized the warning look on his face, but she didn't move. Instead, she opened up her green froggy backpack and retrieved a small plastic orange container filled with tiny white pills. Fanboy squinted, glancing back and forth between the container and her expectant face. The pills jumped about like crickets even though Yo held the container still, and Fanboy looked away to focus on the wall.

For a while, neither child moved. Then, Yo gave a gentle cough, shaking the bottle expectantly.

Then, he gave in. Somewhere in his brain, this was routine. His movements were mechanical as he accepted the drugs without looking away from the wall. Part of him was confused that she was offering him unfamiliar pills, another part was insulted that she expected him to just take them on a whim, and the other part obeyed her without question. He gathered a trio in his palm and swallowed them dry. He did it all effortlessly as if he were used to it. Fanboy pushed that notion away before it could take root in his mind.

Then, he stilled. Why had he just done that? He blinked and it made a clicking noise in his brain.

Yo patted his back and whispered her gratitude. "Thanks, Fanboy."

She was thanking him for ingesting her mystery pills? Fanboy exhaled an almost hysterical bark of laughter, earning a warning glare from Kyle sitting just in front of him. Fanboy ignored the look and buried his face in his gloved palms, peeking through the fingers. He could feel tears of overwhelming stress bubbling up behind his lids, but he screwed his eyes shut, determined not to cry. Yo watched him, feeling incredibly helpless as she watched a tear plop onto the desk.

For now, Yo opted to give him some space. Tomorrow, Oz's mother was going to write her a note to excuse her from class. That way, she could accompany Fanboy on the way to Rockwells Children's' Hospital. Then, Fanboy could finally get the help he needed.

Yo sat up straight, determined. Unlike many of the other townsfolk, she felt that she was the only one who truly loved Fanboy. Oz and his mother cared, of course, but Oz was too immature to take care of Fanboy's needs, and Oz's poor mother was growing too old to involve herself more. Yo was there for him every single day to help him take his medicines, to talk with him, and although he didn't recognize it, to always be there for him.

Satisfied, she carefully put the container back in her backpack and zipped it up. Fanboy was going to get real help, and she couldn't be happier for him. Still, a selfish part of her wished he didn't have to leave.

'Just six hours,' Fanboy soothed himself, trying to lessen his anxiety by thinking calm thoughts. 'Take naps on the benches during recess and lunch. Then, go home. Just try not to indulge any…strange voices, and it'll be fine.'

Mr. Mufflin, the 5th-grade teacher, shuffled into the classroom with a cup of coffee in one hand and a bottle of aspirin in the other.

Fanboy could barely keep awake as Mr. Mufflin took roll call, fading in and out of consciousness until he slid out of his desk and fell limp to the floor with a thunk. Yo jumped, eyeing Fanboy's unconscious form and letting out a small shriek of alarm.

"HUH? What was that?" Mr. Mufflin squawked, scanning his googly eyes around the room for the source of the interruption. The students all swiveled around in their seats, eyes wide and whispering amongst themselves. Not maliciously, mind; they were just curious.

"H-He fainted!" Yo gasped, dropping to Fanboy's side and shaking him. "Fanboy? Can you hear me?"

Mr. Mufflin was NOT a sympathetic man. He glared down at the two children before thundering, "PURPLE KID."

At the sound of his teacher's voice, Fanboy jerked awake. Yo sighed in relief and tried to help him stand, but after a moment's realization, he jumped and struck his temple against the desk. His classmates winced as he stumbled back into his seat, dazed, his head reeling while Yo sat there, shocked.

Mr. Mufflin showed little concern. "That's strike one. Eyes up front, you little monsters."

Yo scowled at her desk and said nothing, but Fanboy nodded dizzily in submission.

The rest of the day was a blur. Fanboy was too tired to giggle or chat or play pranks like he normally did. Instead, he sat slouched over his desk, a blank stare on his face. Students who didn't know about the car accident kept stealing glances at him, curious as to why their cheerful schoolmate was acting like this. Mr. Mufflin had to keep scolding them to face forward.

"…"

"…Wake up, you twit!"

Fanboy jerked awake in an instant, rubbed his eyes, and stared at his friend. Kyle looked back at him with an unimpressed glare. "You were leaning on me," he whispered. "Stop."

"Oh. Sorry, Kyle."

"You were drooling on me as well," he added crossly, poking Fanboy's face.

Fanboy nodded, dazed-looking down at himself. He was half draped across the desk. How? He could hardly tell what was going on. From her seat, Yo gave Kyle a murderous glare.

"He can't help it," she defended.

Kyle whipped his head to glare right back at her. "He had better help it," he hissed. "This time, for the sake of my sanity."

Yo pouted and crossed her arms. Kyle rolled his eyes and turned back to Fanboy, who was sniffling quietly. It was bizarre because he couldn't recall a time where the superfan looked this…down, for lack of a better term.

"Em, you ARE looking a bit decrepit today," Kyle remarked, his temper cooled. "Have you recovered?" He gestured to Fanboy's unbandaged scar. "From the fender-bender, I mean?"

Fanboy stared, and something in his expression shifted. A flicker in his eyes and a twitch at the corners of his lips. Kyle didn't quite recognize what it was. Realization, perhaps? Hurt? Annoyance?

"Can you cast a sleeping spell on me?" The uncomfortable silence that followed his question was tense. Kyle licked at his braces and studied his classmate carefully. This wasn't the first time Fanboy had asked him something like that. During his first day here, Kyle was introduced to whom he thought was a boy with an overactive imagination coupled with an imaginary friend. It didn't bother him at first. When he began insisting that Kyle was a wizard from another galaxy, THAT presented the truth of what was truly wrong with Fanboy.

Kyle shook his head. "Now's not the time, kay?"

Yo opened her mouth to jump in, but resisted, squirming in her seat. Fanboy looked off to the side for a moment, and Kyle couldn't tell if he'd made the other boy angry of annoyed or WHAT.

Pushing his fears aside, Kyle went on. "Tell me, are you feeling any better as of late? Are you happy?" Kyle waited for an answer. He didn't particularly care for the other male, but he couldn't suppress his interest as if Fanboy were an enigmatic specimen to study.

Then, Fanboy did something Kyle didn't expect: he smiled. It shouldn't have been creepy; the kid always smiled, but this was different. It was open-mouthed and slack, lazy, and insincere. Kyle instinctively tightened the grip on the back of his chair.

"What do you think, Kyle?" Fanboy asked softly, all calm and pliant. He tilted his head to the side, his emerald, bloodshot eyes blown as he stared Kyle dead-on. " Do you think I'm very happy ?"

Kyle went still, uncomfortable. He didn't like that tone. "I wouldn't know," he replied carefully. "I'm not you."

"Nope. You aren't. Would you like to be?" Fanboy snickered miserably, his hands shaking. "You'd have to be in my shoes to know how I feel. Maybe you can crack open your Necronomicon and switch our brains. That'd be pretty cool. Do you wanna feel what it's like to be me? Get a taste of your old pal's tongue?" He giggled at himself.

Kyle leaned back, at a loss for words. He looked at Yo for help, but she shook her head and gestured for him to turn around. Kyle obeyed, muttering under his breath about choosing battles. Fanboy watched the back of his head and giggled again.

It caught the attention of Mr. Mufflin, who'd had enough. "Purple Kid?" He jerked his thumb to the door. "Outside."

Fanboy's smile only grew.

Yo sat as stiff as a board as Fanboy's quiet giggles rose in volume.

"But he only has one strike," she dared to argue.

Mr. Mufflin shook his head. "There's been a rule change."

"That's not fair," Yo blurted, smacking her desk. " You're not fair!" The class got quiet, and she realized with dismay that she'd pushed the wrong button.

Mr. Mufflin promptly kicked both Fanboy and her out of class.

...

Yo stomped down the hall with a lethargic Fanboy in tow. "It doesn't even matter anymore," she seethed to herself. "You won't have to see that jerk for a long time."

Fanboy stumbled along, gazing wearily at their conjoined hands. "Yo," he whispered, "I'm not feelin' too well."

"Don't worry." Yo smiled at him tenderly. "You will someday."