Dawn on Jefferson, Chapter Twelve: Where I Envy Grilled Cheese

Chapter One: Getting Up
Chapter Two: Where I Live
Chapter Three: The Walk
Chapter Four: School
Chapter Five: Introducing my Friends, the Merry Pranksters!
Chapter Six: Walking to Mom's
Chapter Seven: Mom’s House
Chapter Eight: It Began on Constitution Hill
Chapter Nine: Attack of the Awknerds!
Chapter Ten: No Awknerds Were Harmed
Chapter Eleven: The Breaking Shadstorm
Chapter Twelve: Where I Envy Grilled Cheese

Let me tell you, being in the middle of a Shadstorm is even less fun than you'd think. After all, you've stirred up trouble, right? Sit back, grab a soda and some popcorn, and watch where the splatter action takes place. Since, y'know, I'm a kid and kids are generally safe from getting into REAL trouble! Right?

Right?!

RIGHT?!

Wrong!

You couldn't be more wrong if you wore plaid and pokadots. Seriously.

In my case, the Indian powered armor combat helmet was potentially an act of war. Indian infantry, uninvited, on an American planet was, at best, a serious problem. As in, big space warships start jumping into systems and rattling proverbial sabers sized problems. Problems so big, they might cause the second (or is it third?) interstellar war.

Last time it was Indonesia, Brazil and Nigeria teaming up against Europe. They wanted Europe to open up its first exclusively European world to their colonists as well. Europe said no. Back when it happened, it was more like a bunch of kids with rafts on a small lake splashing each other and calling it a war. At least compared to now. Then they used repurposed ships. Now, they built massive dedicated warships. Then it was three rising powers against a stagnated old one. Now...India and America were two of the most powerful nations in space. Only China was their rival.

But back to me. Since I was the most important this story! Really! No! That's not a small moon! And its not my ego either! Ha!

The incident with the Indian helmet was an even bigger problem for me. Or so I saw it.

After all, I derpably chased Kyle who tripped over it while chasing the Awknerds. That made it my problem. I'd have gladly handed it over to Kyle for it to be his problem, but for some reason the problem was labeled mine and left in my inbox. No way to get out of it. No way to escape. No way to play dumb. Everyone knows I am not and knows even better I am HORRIBLE at playing dumb.

hrmph.

So, instead of getting to go off on a hike to see if I could find some small bit of meteorite - note, no one has ever actually found one, but we go for the hike the next day as part of tradition anyways - I got grilled.

In fact, I was so grilled, I thought a grilled cheese sandwich had it too easy. I had the adults from town tearing me apart. I had my PARENTS tearing me apart. And if you knew my Mom, when she gets into Grand Inquisitor Mode, you'd understand just how miserable I was. And when my parents, even in their no-longer-together-and-not-real-comfortable-around-each-other-state work together like this, it is BAD. Really, really bad. Not for them. For me.

Grilled cheese. You have it too easy!

THEN!

IT GOT WORSE!

Some Feds from the main office from the Bureau of Interplanetary Investigations showed up. They ripped and ribbed and tortured me with questions. Why, oh, why couldn't they find something small and fuzzy to be cruel to instead of me?!

(actually I don't mean that, but they did seem like evil sadists: they took away my booster when we talked so I couldn't access the greater world or talk with my friends or anything! Sadists, I tell you!)

THEN!

The US Marine Corps showed up.

No, I am not kidding. There is a small garrison on Jefferson. There were about 200 marines and they mostly trained and act as a group to train others if there was ever a war on Jefferson. The likelihood of that depends on whether I get back my booster in time to wreck utter havoc on the Awknerds for this predicament.

They grilled me for another day. I was mental apple sauce by then. Mush with a side of fried brains meant only for zombies. Maybe that's the origin of that horrible stuff called poutine?

BBQ Steak had it easier! IT WAS LESS GRILLED THAN I WAS!

AND I'M ONLY 12!

After it was all said and done, I was released back to my parents. I went back to my Mom's. I wanted her precise and utter organization after the headaches of the last few days. Days that were meant to fun. My right of passage from 6th grade into 7th. Just at the end of 'childhood' and into the drama of the teenage years.

But, no, instead I ended up having to see if the BBQ had left burn marks on my butt when I finally got home.

And, no, I did NOT really look in the mirror to see if there were burn marks despite what my little brother might say.

originally written for my daughter who was then an 11 year old