Nine Months Later, Moving Day Approaches, and My Social Battery Is Officially Dead

Bum bum bum ba bum bum ba bum bum. Star Wars theme song 😎. Spoiler alert: I do not like Star Wars. Sorry, not sorry. It’s just not that interesting to me. I’m more of a Twilight or Harry Potter type. Speaking of, I saw the teaser trailer for the HBO show—it was AMAZING. Dude, it’s going to be so fire. I love the actors for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They seem fitting. Especially Ron.

Nine months ago, I was at summer camp. I went mountain biking, and suddenly my knee started cracking. Weird, but I didn’t think too much of it. It hurt a little, but oh well—I figured I was just sore from not being used to biking. While waiting with my friends Pinocchio and Shrek for our next activity, I told them that afterward I’d go to the nurse’s office to get it checked out.

We went to Tomahawks, played a few rounds, and then sat down on these random planks campers used as benches instead of the actual benches. While we were minding our own business and chatting, I suddenly looked down at my leg. Swollen. Knee? Swollen. Ankle? Now the size of a golf ball. Foot? A giant’s foot. I had a feeling that wasn’t normal. So, being the responsible child I am (half the time), I went over to a counselor and showed them the problem.

For the rest of camp, I spent a lot of time in and out of the nurse’s office. I even went to Urgent Care. They didn’t think anything was wrong. But hey, I got to chill with Gingy. We spent the entire second Monday in the nurse’s office together, and then Tuesday we went to Urgent Care (for our separate problems, of course).

After camp, I went to the orthopedic doctor. They did X-rays—nothing showed up. They decided it was just Patellofemoral Pain Syndrome. The MRI didn’t show anything either. I went to PT for months and had a little bit of healing, but a few months ago it stopped helping. I went back to the orthopedic doctor, got another X-ray, and once again they said they thought it was Patellofemoral Pain Syndrome. Then I got another MRI.

Now here’s the fun part. To all those who thought I was faking my knee injury (and you know who you are—I will never forget it): turns out I wasn’t. What a shocker. Who knew two people in one cabin could be injured? But nooo, you guys thought I just wanted attention, didn’t you? My pain was real. The swelling was real. The cracking was real. ALL OF IT. I do not fake injuries, got it? I’m not stupid enough to go as low as you guys if you’re trying to get out of something or want attention.

No—instead, I have not one, but two meniscus tears. Believe me now that my knee was injured? I wish I could see the looks on your faces when you realize. It’s messed up. Messed up that you didn’t believe me. Messed up that you thought it was a cry for attention. My role as Lord Farquaad? You do realize only one of my knees was fully bent and the injured one was in front with a slight bend, right? But you were so focused on trying to prove I was faking it that you didn’t pay attention to what I was actually doing. So what if I was trying to have a little fun? I didn’t put too much risk into it, and I got approval from a counselor before doing it.

Now that I’ve put these idiots in their place, time to continue. We move in a month (yay!), and now that it’s getting closer, it’s starting to hit. I’m leaving my friends behind—the first group I’ve ever had that genuinely cared. I’ll try to come visit you guys, promise. I’ll call. I’ll text. And I’ll send a dinosaur named Rex to your houses (Bubbles, ikyk). You can come visit me too. I’ll take you around the area.

Since we’re moving soon, my family has been having so many gatherings with people. It’s draining my social battery. Then I just stand there like a deer in headlights, trying to make sense of everything going on around me. But, alas, we won’t really see these people anymore, so I suppose it’s worth it. shrug

LAST THING BEFORE I GIVE YOU A SNEAK PEEK: I got my braces off. Under the Surface of Writing

She closed her eyes, reaching outward with her thoughts. Nothing. No minds nearby. She pushed deeper. If there was no mind, there had to be a heart.

There. A faint thump. Close.

Helen stood, grabbed a thick root protruding from a nearby tree, and slammed her heel into a weak spot. The wood cracked. She kicked again, snapping it free.

“HEY! DIMBLEBRAIN!” she yelled into the trees.

The forest erupted.

A blur shot toward her—small, fast, vicious. The lopkis burst into view, drawn by her voice. Water spiraled from her fingertips, wrapping around the root. Electricity crackled along the wood, igniting it in a burst of flame.

Just in time for her to see its face.

Glassy black eyes, wide and unblinking. Skin stretched thin and translucent like a dirty window. A long maroon tail, barbed with venomous spikes. Wings—tiny, leathery—unfurled from its skull as it rose to her eye level.

It was the size of her head.

It screeched, revealing rows upon rows of crooked brown teeth, blood caked between them.

Helen tightened her grip on the flaming root.

“Now or never,” she muttered.

Helen swung the burning root, the tip missing the creature’s skull by inches. The lopki ducked with a shrill hiss, spiraling upward before diving again. Its tiny arms snapped open mid‑air, claws glinting as they reached for her eyes.

She thrust the root upward. Electricity crackled along the wood, slicing clean through one of its arms. The severed limb hit the ground and twitched grotesquely, still trying to claw at something. The lopki shrieked, its obsidian eyes locking onto her with murderous fury.

Its tail whipped forward, striking the root with a force that rattled her bones. Helen staggered, boots slipping in the mud as the creature pressed harder, driving her backward.

“I… have come…” she growled, teeth clenched. Then she dropped the root entirely, twisting her arm in a tight arc. A surge of black water—dark, oily, and violent—burst from her palm. “TOO FAR.”

The blast hit the lopki square in the chest.

It screamed, steam pouring from its melting skin. The creature writhed, shriveling into itself until it collapsed with a wet thud, dissolving into a bubbling puddle.