THE BOOK OF TIME
By Guillaume Prevost
Samuel Faulkner’s trouble with time started at 9:48 Saturday morning.
His grandmother’s voice, calling him from downstairs.
“Is everything all right? Aren’t you going to your tournament?
Sam’s eyes snapped open. The tournament!
“If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss your bus!”
The bus came at 10:06. Sam threw himself out of bed. It was his birthday, and he’d thought he could sleep in – he’d completely forgotten about the tournament! He raced around his room, pulling on a T-shirt and jeans, sweeping up him gym bag, his judo uniform, his brown belt. The tournament, where he’d be facing Monk…
“Sammy, what are you doing? It’s almost ten o’clock.”
“It’s okay, Grandma. I’m coming down,” he shouted back.
In the room next door, a hysterical girl singer wailed on and on about a good-looking boy she just met at the beach:
He’s so cute,
He’s so sweet.
He makes my heart skip a beat.
Oh yes, the boy on the beeeaach!
The source of this racket would be his twelve-year-old cousin Lily, who gathered her friends every Saturday morning for long gossip sessions with lots of stupid pop music. Amazing how he slept through a noise like that!
I hope he’s not out of reach.
Oh yes, the boy on the beach!
“Sammy, it’s after ten o’clock!”
Sam slipped on his sneakers without tying them and looked around the room to be sure he had everything. His bus pass lay on the desk next to a framed photograph of his parents and Alicia at Thanksgiving. He gave the picture the briefest glance as he grabbed the pass, then opened the door.