7 Days in November, Friday, Part 1

Chapter 1: Friday

It was Thursday night that Furball decided he wasn’t going to be at school Friday. He thought about it for hours, sleepless, staring at his ceiling, before he committed to his decision. It wasn’t even a consideration at first, just an idea that wandered into his tired head. And then, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. When the time came, he committed, but only after he talked himself through the hesitation.

When his mom came in to his room Friday morning to wake him up, she found the result of a sleepless night: what felt like a fever, heavy bags under his eyes. He even looked a little pale through his fur. Well, part of all of this was the sleepless night; Furball had done more in a day with less sleep. Most of his fever was will-power. Furball had discovered a few years before that, if he tried hard enough, he could raise his body temperature, kind of like the monks in Tibet. He put this to good use, realizing early on that if he was going to fake sick, he’d have to space these things out, using them once a semester, maybe twice if he really needed a mental-health day. This was, of course, always Plan A. If his parents didn’t buy it, there were always other ways to get out of school, but Plan B required a lot of preparation, like a friend and a pay phone. At the moment, he lacked both. He wasn’t up for that today, so he willed the fever, hiding under his covers, and refused to get up. It was in this way Furball challenged the world.

His parents never suspected anything, never thought that he’d skip school, because Furball was a Good Kid. Whenever they were split on his condition, his record was the tie-breaking vote. Furball’s mom closed the door behind her and called him in to school. Furball listened as they started their cars, and drove off to work, the garage door humming closed. He sighed. Mission accomplished.

Furball turned over in his bed and sulked. He didn’t have any plans for that day, or for the near future. None of the typical sick-day activities, like making friends with daytime TV, appealed to him. He didn’t get up to hit up the Internet, or to make himself breakfast. He was warm in his bed, and he didn’t feel welcome to the outside world. He dozed until he couldn’t anymore, then peeked out from under his covers. It was after nine. School had started. Furball closed his eyes, his ears dropping against his head. He let his bed swallow him again.

Something tapped against his window, and he wasn’t sure if he had really heard it, or if his mind had wandered off and dreamt it. He had a basement room, not because he was lucky or because his parents decided he should have his own space, but because his house was too small for a room on the ground floor. Like so many other houses in the Feldman neighborhood of Java, Missouri, theirs was a little one story home, part of a circle of houses that lined the block. There was a common area in the middle, open to everyone, provided they didn’t mind the gloriously misplaced drainage sewer in the center.

The tapping came again, and this time Furball was sure it was real. He tried to ignore it. It came again, much harder this time. Furball rolled over and opened his eyes. Ty stood outside his window, holding her coat closed, trying to keep the cold out. She gave a little wave and pointed to the basement door. Furball retreated back into the womb of his bed. He began to doze again, not trying to fight it this time. He wouldn’t have to deal with anyone while he was asleep.

His wrist hurt again and, embarrassed, he rubbed it, trying to ease the pain.

The basement door opened. His ears perked. Footsteps fell across the plush carpeting of the basement, stopping briefly at the split in the hallway that seperated his room and a little bathroom. After a moment, the tapping came again, this time on his door.

The door opened, and Ty stuck her head in.

“Furball?”

He sat up. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Ty was quiet, but she held herself with a calm sort of integrity. And she was strong, stronger than a lot of her friends. That person wasn’t here. Something had happened.

Ty let herself into Furball’s room and sat down by his bed. She stared out the window, watching the wind rattle dead leaves over the yard. She was something of a curiosity to Furball; she was a cross between a wolf and a fox, and the two species battled for their manifestation in her body. She had gray and white fur covering her body, but the rest of her, he ears, muzzle and tail, were all fox. She was boyish, slender hips and a rich voice, and a complete disregard for most things “girly.” Even her clothes were mostly from the boys section at stores. Her headfur was the exception; it pushed down past her chin, reaching for her shoulders. The tips were still blue from when she had dyed it over the summer, something Cherrywood school frowned upon. Ty never cared what the school thought, or at least never let it show.

“Why aren’t you in school?” She was being sympathetic, Furball could tell, but her voice cracked when she spoke, and it made Furball wince. She was being quiet, but he could feel her screaming from under the surface. He faltered, tripped up by her new disposition, and proud he had read her. That was big in the group, reading each other. Ty was really good at it, probably the best of the group. She could even figure out Jon when he was around.

Ty sighed, her ears dropping. “Are you sick?”

Furball turned away from Ty. This wasn’t a good time.

“Tycho,” Ty said, almost whispering. “Please talk to me.”

Furball cringed. He curled up tight and hugged himself. None of his friends used his real name anymore, he wouldn’t let them. He wanted to cry, but he was too ashamed to do it in front of the only girl that would talk to him. The calico turned back over. Ty watched, her emerald eyes looking down at him.

“How did you get in?” He asked, pulling himself up.

“Bryan told me where you hid the key.” She held up her cellphone, showing him a text message from Bryan.

“Oh.” Furball slumped. He waited for Ty to say something. Anything. She studied her hands, sighing a little.

“Why aren’t you in school?” She asked again.

“Why aren’t you in school?” He spat back, more abrasively than he had meant. He squeezed his eyes shut, his ears pressing against his head.

“I couldn’t be there today,” Ty said, looking at nothing in particular.

“Me too.”

They fell back into silence. Furball held himself, not wanting to speak, but growing more and more tense in the stalemate.

“I don’t think they like me there,” Furball mumbled.

“You want to get out of here?”

Furball’s ears perked. “What do you mean?”

“Like, go down to Church Street?”

“Sure.”

Ty brightened. “Good. Get dressed. I’ll wait outside.” She stood and hugged Furball around his shoulders. Then, almost as an afterthought, she kissed him on the cheek.

“Hurry up.”