The relentless shriek of his alarm clock tore Jake from a dream where he was soaring over the neighborhood. Reality was a beige ceiling and the daunting knowledge that today was the day. He slapped the snooze button, a heavy knot of dread settling in his stomach.
He could hear Katy's music thumping from across the hall. He dragged himself out of bed and pulled on the clothes he'd laid out – a relatively new t-shirt and jeans that seemed to mock him with their forced normalcy.
Breakfast was tense. Their mom bustled around with slightly burnt pancakes. "Big day, guys! Eat up!"
Katy poked at her pancake. "Energy for what? Surviving the awkward silences?"
Jake managed half a pancake, his mouth dry and palms already sweating.
The walk to school felt impossibly long. As they approached the buildings, students streamed around them. Jake clutched his backpack straps.
"Okay, this is it," Katy said, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. "Don't do anything too embarrassing."
Jake watched her disappear into the crowd, then turned toward Northwood Middle.
The main hallway was chaos – lockers slamming, voices echoing. Jake clutched his schedule, trying to find Room 207.
He pushed open the door and the chatter died. All eyes turned to him. His face flushed furious red.
Ms. Davison smiled warmly. "Class, we have a new student. This is Jake...?"
"Jake Miller," he managed, his voice cracking.
"Welcome! Why don't you tell us about yourself? Where are you from? What are your hobbies?"
Jake's mind went blank. "Um... we moved from Elmwood. And I... like... stuff."
Snickers rippled through the room. Jake's cheeks burned as he dove into an empty chair.
The real test came at lunch. The cafeteria was a vast cavern of noise. Jake stood paralyzed with his tray – every table seemed full, every group impenetrable.
He spotted an empty space at a back table and started navigating the aisles. His untied shoelace snagged on a chair leg.
Time slowed. His tray tilted. Tater tots, chicken patty, milk carton – all began their inevitable descent.
SPLAT!
The milk exploded across his jeans and a nearby girl's shoes. The cafeteria erupted in laughter.
"Look at the new kid! Total klutz!" someone yelled.
Tears pricked his eyes.
"Hey, leave him alone!" A sharp voice cut through the mockery.
A girl with curly brown hair stood up from the table he'd aimed for. "It was an accident! Hasn't anyone ever spilled something?"
The laughter died down. She turned to Jake, her expression softening. "Are you okay? Don't worry about them."
A freckled boy was already picking up scattered food. "Here, let me help."
"I'm Jane," the girl said, extending her hand. "And this is Michael."
"Rough start, huh?" Michael offered a friendly smile.
"Come sit with us," Jane said. "We've got space."
Relief washed over Jake as he sat between them.
"So, 'stuff,' huh?" Michael grinned. "Does 'stuff' include video games?"
Jake's head snapped up. "Yeah! How did you know?"
"Just a guess. We're both pretty into games too."
And just like that, Jake found himself talking for the first time that day. The knot in his stomach loosened. Maybe Northwood wouldn't be so bad after all.
***
The aroma of their mom's homemade lasagna filled the dining room – a comforting scent that pushed back the day's anxieties. Jake sat across from Katy, picking at the tablecloth while their parents served dinner.
"So," their dad began, "first day in the books. How was school?"
Katy swallowed her bite. "High school was fine. English teacher seems cool. I navigated the cafeteria without incident."
"Any new friends?" their mom asked.
"Just people. Nothing major." Katy shot Jake a quick glance.
Jake pushed lasagna around his plate. "It was okay," he mumbled, not wanting to recount the milk disaster.
"Just 'okay'?" their mom prompted gently.
"The hallways are really crowded. And I got lost finding classes. But I met some people at lunch."
Their dad leaned forward. "That's great! Who?"
"Jane and Michael," Jake said, a genuine smile appearing. "They're pretty cool. We talked about video games."
Katy raised an eyebrow. "You made friends on day one? Look at you, Mr. Social Butterfly."
Their mom beamed. "That's wonderful, Jake! See? I told you it would be fine."
Later that night, Jake retreated to his room. The oak tree rustled outside his window, casting dancing shadows. He closed his door and changed into pajamas. His room was still sparsely decorated – just his wooden dragon and "The Hobbit" on a makeshift bedside table.
He flopped onto his bed. The mattress felt too firm, too narrow. He stretched out and his feet dangled off the end.
"Ugh," he sighed. "I wish this bed was bigger. Like, a lot bigger. So I could actually stretch out."
A faint tremor ran through the mattress. A soft creaking sound, like old wood groaning, filled the air.
Jake sat up, eyes wide. He looked around the room, then down at his bed.
The bed was bigger. Not just a little – noticeably so. The mattress had expanded, stretching wider and longer. The wooden frame had elongated to match. Same bed, same wood grain, same lumpy pillow – but undeniably, impossibly larger.
Jake scrambled off, heart hammering. He ran his hand along the frame. It felt solid, real. He walked around it – at least a foot longer, six inches wider than moments before.
His mind raced for logical explanations. Had his parents secretly swapped beds during dinner? Impossible. It was the exact same bed, just... more of it.
He remembered his wish – the casual desire for a bigger bed. Could it have... no. That was impossible. Things like that didn't happen in real life. Not to him.
He sat back down cautiously. It felt incredibly comfortable now, spacious and inviting. It had to be his parents. Some kind of surprise, maybe a "smart bed" that sensed his needs. Yes, that made sense. New house, new technology.
He lay back, pulling up the covers, a puzzled frown on his face. The idea of his parents pulling off stealth bed-expansion was far more acceptable than any fantastical explanation. He was just Jake, after all. Dorks didn't have magical powers.
He drifted off to sleep, oblivious to the subtle hum of nascent power that now resonated, ever so faintly, within the walls of his room.
***
The second morning dawned with familiar chaos. Katy's feet stomped down the hallway. "Jake! Are you even awake? We're going to be late!"
He groaned, rolling over in his impossibly spacious bed. The expansion felt normal now, filed under "Parental Shenanigans" in his mind. New house, new furniture, right? He stumbled out, pulling on yesterday's jeans.
His first thought was math class. He needed his calculator. He grabbed his backpack and unzipped it, fingers searching for his black TI-84. His brow furrowed. Notebooks, textbooks, a candy wrapper – but no calculator.
Panic built in his stomach. "No, no, no," he muttered, dumping everything onto his desk. He checked every pocket, looked under his bed, scanned the carpet. His TI-84 was nowhere. He imagined Mr. Henderson's stern look, the deducted participation points.
"This is ridiculous!" He slammed his hand on the desk. "I just wish it would appear!"
A faint clink echoed from his desk.
Jake froze. There, sitting perfectly centered on his crumpled history notes, was his black TI-84 calculator. It hadn't been there a second ago. He'd just emptied the desk completely.
His heart lurched – the same strange feeling from last night with the bed. A puzzle piece fitting where none should exist.
"Whoa," he breathed, touching it hesitantly. Solid, real, undeniably his.
His mind raced for explanations. Had his parents snuck in? No, they were downstairs. Had he missed it somehow? He was clumsy, after all. Dorks made these mistakes. Maybe it fell perfectly onto the pile when he wasn't looking. A lucky coincidence, nothing more.
He stuffed the calculator into his backpack and hurried downstairs. The kitchen buzzed with morning activity – Mom packing lunches, Dad wrestling with the coffee maker, Katy ready and annoyingly put-together.
"Found my calculator!" Jake announced casually.
Katy smirked. "You're such a mess, Jake. Probably just overlooked it. Or maybe it jumped into your bag when you weren't looking."
Jake nodded gratefully. "Yeah, must've." The strange sensation faded, replaced by familiar self-deprecation. Just a coincidence. A lucky break. His dork logic reasserted itself.
Walking to school, Jake felt a lingering hum beneath his thoughts. First the bed, now the calculator. Two odd occurrences in two days. But he dismissed them quickly. New house, new routine – things were bound to feel off. He was just Jake, the dork. And dorks didn't have magic.
The thought comforted him as he focused on the real challenge of navigating school.