I knew I was in trouble the moment I patted my pocket and found nothing. No keys. No jingling sound. Just silence and a hollow feeling in my stomach.
I plonked my schoolbag onto the porch and patted myself down – front pockets, back pockets, even inside my socks because, hey, maybe artsy-past-me had gotten creative this morning.
But nope. The keys were nowhere. I scowled at the front door like I could somehow make it magically swing open. Maybe if I rang the doorbell enough times, my mum would magically arrive early from work.
Ding-dong. Nothing.
Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding — Still nothing.
I growled, stepping back to think. Fine, I had options.
Plan A: Try the back door. I circled the house and gave the handle a hopeful pull. Locked. Of course.
Plan B: Try the windows. I walked around the side of the house until I came upon one that was slightly open. My heart jumped. Finally, some good fortune!
I took a deep breath, held on to the windowsill, and hauled myself up. My foot skidded off the wall, but after a few sheepish grunts and a knee-in-the-face moment, I’d managed to get my head and arms in.
Then, I stiffened. Because I was not going any farther.
I freaked out as I realised exactly what had happened. My stomach – my darling, snack-filled stomach – was stuck fast in the frame.
“Oh no,” I groaned, squirming desperately.
I took as much air as I could and attempted to shimmy ahead – but no. My belly wasn’t working. I drew in a slow breath, praying maybe deflating like a balloon would suffice. It did not.
Rather, I just hung there, halfway in the house, halfway out, like some kind of sad decoration.
That’s when I heard it. A soft meow.
I moved my head to look over at Whiskers, the neighbour’s smug little cat, who sat in the grass, viewing me as the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen. His tail wagged lazily, and I could have sworn judgment glared out of his eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snarled, continuing to kick my legs. “I know I ate too many snacks.”
Whiskers stretched and offered no sign of sympathy.
I struggled for another minute, trying to roll myself back, but my arms were positioned queerly, and whenever I tried to move, the window frame stabbed into my ribs. I winced, resting my forehead against the glass.
Then, I heard footsteps. Oh no.
My mum was coming.
I turned around, or as much as I could manage, just in time to see her rounding the corner, grocery bags in her hands. She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at me, mouth open. There was a pause. Then …
She burst out laughing.
Like, real laughter. The kind where she had to set the bags down and wipe away tears.
“Need some help?” she managed to get out between giggles.
I let out an over-the-top sigh. “No, I’m just going to live here now. You can pass me snacks through the window.”
She chuckled, still grinning, and walked over. “Okay, suck it in, buddy.”
With a lot of effort (and a little pushing on my mum’s part that was most assuredly not gentle), I finally popped out and landed in a heap on the lawn.
I stood there for a moment, looking up at the sky, as Whiskers walked over and sniffed my face like he was checking to see if I’d survived.
“Lesson learnt?” my mum asked, smiling down at me.
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Always pick up my keys.”
And maybe, just maybe, cut down on the after-school snacks.
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