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Chapter 1: The Boy With The Pet Slug

6 MONTHS EARLIER

“You know what’s funny?” Dylan said as he popped a sherbet ball in his mouth. “That a ‘fat chance’ and a ‘slim chance’ mean exactly the same thing.”

 “Is it?” I asked, watching him as he swallowed his sherbet. “Oh, yeah... You’re right. That is so weird.”

 It was Friday and Dylan and I were sitting on the grass near the basketball courts at school. The sun was a bright yellow scorcher in the sky.

 “Sweet,” he uttered. He handed the bag to me.

“This is a stupid game,” I declared, but I took the bag and reached my hand in. I tried to be tactical in picking sherbet balls, even though I couldn’t see what was inside. I knew Dylan was smiling as I attempted to gauge which ones were sweet and which one wasn’t. Finally I picked one. A sugary, fizzy taste filled my mouth and I sighed with relief. “Sweet,” I claimed and I handed the bag back to him.

 “English is such a funny language. So many things don't make sense. We should all just speak in Spanish. That would be cool.” Dylan didn’t take as long to choose a sherbet ball from the bag.

 “Si, me gusta. Everything sounds so much better in Spanish. Although I wish Mr Vergara would slow down when he asks us questions.”

 Suddenly Dylan’s face changed and he pretended to choke, but then he saw the look on my gullible face. “Psych, it’s sweet,” he said, laughing and he gave me the bag. “Have you heard the way Mr Vergara says ‘albondigas’? It’s the funniest thing ever. That has to be the best Spanish word I have ever heard. I think it means ‘meatballs’ or something.”

 “Funny word for meatballs,” I said as I tried to chew the sherbet. And then I felt my tongue go all peppery. I spit the sherbet out and frantically started fanning my mouth. Dylan threw his hands in the air in victory. “Yes! I win!” he cried. Then he leaned in curiously. “What does it taste like?”

“It’s hot! It's too hot!” I hurriedly grabbed a bottle of water and sprayed my face to cool down my burning cheeks. That didn't really help. I then began panting heavily like a Great Dane after a game of fetch. Dylan just laughed his head off at me.

I sighed with relief when the burning sensation eventually left my tongue. “I’m never eating that again! It’s a horrible excuse for confectionery!”

“Is it really that bad?” Dylan picked up a fiery sherbet ball and ate it. He thought for a moment as the taste set in. “I kinda like it.”

I shook my head. “I gotta get to class,” I said, grabbing my backpack and heading for the school building.

“Hey, we’re still going to Darla’s after school, right?” he yelled, hurrying to catch up.

“Yeah,” I said.

As we stepped into the hallway, I saw auburn-haired Samantha Quinn coming from the opposite direction. Dylan raised a hand to wave as she passed, but Samantha didn't take a second glance at him.

Dylan sighed. "She's still mad at me? How long after a breakup does it take to be on good terms with your ex?"

"I thought she dumped you," I said.

"Well... she did."

"Then why is she so mad at you?" I said, laughing.

"Come on. You know how girls are; they always have to be the victim."

My laughter died and I gasped at him. "Wow! How can you say that? That is such a sexist stereotype."

"Oops." Dylan recoiled. "Sorry. Although you kinda just helped me prove my point there."