“You’re late!” he whispered with extreme urgency into the megaphone. “Your date had to wait and now you’re late! Oh, what to do, what to do? I fear for you, I do, I do.” He stood up, ran around his chair three times, sneezed a loud “achoo” and fell over. Trupmets flittered down a chromatic scale as he dropped to the ground.

I awoke to Melvin performing taps on his coronet. I cursed marching bands everywhere, especially his director who had taught him to play so loudly. And he wasn’t even in tune! My sensitive ears—ruined!

My dream the night before was disturbing, indeed, only there was no time to dwell on it. Leave that for my shrink on Monday. I hit my clock to discover the time. “Seven o’clock A.M.” it’s mechanical female voice told me. Running late already, I bolted straight up, hitting my head on the low, sloping ceiling above my bed. Relieved that life was back to its usual routine, I showered (slipping only once), dressed (and even found matching socks), and walked carefully downstairs for breakfast.

I heard some muffled screams coming from Tristan’s room, but chalked it up to his peculiar antics. Melvin, Carissa, and Adrian already sat at the table. Melvin’s accursed coronet rested next to his bowl of Cocoa Puffs. I glared at it with a look that I wished would shoot destructive red rays and melt it on the spot.

“So what’s this latest crisis with Tristan?” I asked no one in particular.

Adrian looked at me somewhat uncomfortably. Melvin did, too. Carissa couldn’t contain herself and burst out with the most surprising news of my morning.

“You seriously don’t know? Oh my gosh! No, you’re just playing around again, right?”

I must have looked at least as confused as I felt. She continued, this time actually giving me some information.

“Wow, you really have no idea, then. Well, around five this morning, I saw that your door was open and the lights in your room were on. I couldn’t sleep and I thought I’d talk to you until one of us nodded off first or until we had to get dressed and all that. But you weren’t in your room!” She paused for unnecessary dramatic effect. “And here’s the good part – I saw just the back of you as you disappeared down the stairs. I knew it was you because of your bright orange pajamas. Anyway, I thought maybe you knew about a good midnight snack, so I followed you downstairs. Only you didn’t go into the kitchen.” She stopped again, peering at each of us, her eyes growing with her feeling of holding some sort of power over me. “You went over to Tristan’s room instead!”

“No.” I said in disbelief. Oh horrors! What could I have done?

“Yes. You did. I saw you. You stopped in front of the door, stuck a picture on it, knocked, and then walked in. I didn’t follow you inside, because, well, what you two do really isn’t my business, you know.”

I turned red with her insinuations. The important question: Was it red from embarrassment or anger?

“You shut the door most of the way, but I could still see inside if I stood close enough to the crack in the door. Tristan’s mirror was in just the right position for me to see everything you did.” Oh why did I live in a house with aspiring actors and actresses?

“First, you yanked the bedspread and sheets off his bed. He was too confused to do anything. Then you took the top sheet and used it to tie his ankles and wrists to the posts of the bed. You took a random sock you must have seen lying on the ground and….” She held out her final syllable.

“And what?” I asked, not sure if I really wanted to know.