The Boy Witch

Chapter 12

When Miles woke up, he was immediately shocked by the immense pounding in his head. Holding on to his head with both hands, he let out a long whine. Even Mortimer’s gentle kneading on his chest and purring were excruciatingly loud and annoying. He gently pushed the cat off his chest. When he stood up, he was light-headed and had to prop himself up by holding on to his bed.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, sending Miles in a headache tailspin. While he tried to recover, his mother started yelling. “Miles! Get the door!”

“Yes, Mother,” Miles replied with a pained voice. He stumbled towards the door and finally opened it.

Sam was there, with a serious look on his face. Miles was surprised to see him there, stepped out of the house, seemingly not caring that he still wore pajama pants and a t-shirt, and closed the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?” Miles asked, whispered as if his mother could hear them through the door.

“Just checking on you,” Sam explained, “after last night.”

“Did you have to come so early?” Miles complained, holding his pained head.

“Early? It’s two in the afternoon,” Sam responded.

“Oh.” Miles replied, dejected.

“So, how are you feeling?”

“Like hell,” he replied. “…What happened last night, exactly?”

“You got drunk,” Sam answered, still bitter. “Or the basketball players got you to drink.”

“Wow,” Miles mouthed. “That explains why I feel so terrible. I thought it was bad when I strained using my powers, but this is worse.”

“You still have face paint smudged on your cheek,” Sam added, pointing to Miles’ face.

“Oh, thank you,” Miles answered. He had managed to get out of his scarecrow costume when he returned home, but obviously did not do such a great job at removing his face paint.

“Speaking of powers, you tried to show them to the guys.”

“I did what?” Miles let out, incredulous.

“Yeah. Maybe drinking is not such a good idea for you.”

“No kidding.”

As they talked, there was a crash in the home that Miles heard through the door. He heard his mother scream, too.

“A really bad idea…” Miles repeated, pondering his mother’s heritage. He certainly did not want to walk in his mother’s footsteps. “I better go help her.”

“Yeah, it sounds like it,” Sam replied with compassion. He did not wish Miles’ lifestyle on anybody else. He wished he could do something about his friend’s situation. Really, he was the parent in the relationship with his mother and he had no opportunity to just be a teen. Though perhaps he did have such an opportunity last night.

They separated and Miles returned inside to his reality. His mother had tried to climb a foot stool to investigate the kitchen’s upper cabinets and fell. Miles reached her and helped her up, with some difficulty, given his state.

“What are you doing?” Miles asked.

“Looking for my bottle of liquor,” Mallory replied. “I had a bottle, somewhere around here.”

Miles remembered he had helped himself to a bottle the night before. It was probably sitting empty, drunk by the basketball players and their friends, on a pile of empty bottles and cans, in the aftermath of Devon’s party. A panic started to fill him.