Chapter 1

    Kyle leapt to his feet and sat down. His pupils dilated as he tried to make sense of the low light. He panted, his tongue protruding like that of a thirsty dog. Instead of the dreadful, chilly sensation of falling, he felt softness beneath his feet and warmth across his legs. With trembling fingers, he sucked his tongue back in and groped through the sheets. He spewed out words of relief with heavy gasps. "I've gone to bed! It had all been a dream!"

    He slapped his palms together and brushed them against his sweat-soaked cheeks. There are no scales! He craned his neck to see his back, and he reached out with his hands, but his tossing and turning had twisted his PJ top enough to limit his movement. He leapt to his feet and tiptoed toward the light switch, avoiding his half-finished pencil sketches, which appeared like small wrinkled ghosts in the dawn's hazy brightness. He slapped the wall with an upward sweet. Missed! He slapped once more. Oh, the light!

    Kyle clenched his eyes shut and looked up at the two bulbs on the ceiling chandelier. He moved through his art-strewn room with a succession of one-footed hops and careful steps, almost scared to look in the mirror when he turned his back to his reflection. He let out a long sigh of relief. There will be no wings! A wrinkled and moist sweaty PJ top clung to his shoulders, yet it lay flat on his otherwise exposed flesh. He smacked his heated, dry lips as he remembered his burning breath from the dream. I feel like I fried and ate that knight for breakfast.

    He shuffled down the hall toward the bathroom, his school clothes tucked under his arm, wondering about the dream. It was quickly dissipating, like fog being swept away by the bright morning sun. Was it a knight, perhaps? I can't recall. Was it true that I was a dragon?

    He turned on the light and peered around the bathroom counter while still smacking his lips. There's the mouthwash, I see. He snatched up the plastic bottle and flipped it over to read the inscription on the side. "It gives you a fresh, clean, and cool breath!" It works for the guys on TV, at least. Kyle gargled and swished a few times, but his mouth still felt like it was full of used charcoal. What was the name of the commercial's song? Oh, sure. "Are you sick of your dog's old breath? Clean it up with Super Fresh!" Doggie breath would have been preferable at this point.

    Kyle slapped the plastic bottle on the counter and grimaced at his reflection. Nothing is going to help.

    He leaned into the mirror, one palm on the sink, feeling his chin for any telltale indications of sprouting whiskers. Today is not one of those days. However, the zits were under control, which was a positive thing. He checked the hair on his arms as he straightened his body. Even though there was no hint of red in the company of brown follicles on his head, a flattened, ragged mat of unruly strands that needed a dose of discipline, it seemed thicker and more reddish than before. His thick, short nap sprang straight up and then wilted to one side as he brushed his hair with a rapid sweep of his fingers.

    He moved forward to examine his reflection more closely till he could see the individual pores in his skin. He exhaled on his image with his mouth open wide, straining his eyes to see any consequences. The mirror did not become fogged. It's the third day in a row!

    He took a step back and gently blew on his knuckles. "Ouch!" He shook his fingers and sprayed cool water on it. My own breath had scalded me! Under the water's spray, a red blister developed. Wow! This is the worst case of terrible breath I've ever had!

    Was it finally time to inform his parents about the situation? Would they force him to wear a surgical mask in order to protect everyone? He's already been dubbed "Dragon Breath" by some of the students at school. He didn't want to be called "Lizard Lips" or anything like that.

    Maybe it was a fungus, some strange life form that settled in his cheeks to start a new empire. It seemed like he was licking glazed pottery, a series of slick ridges that didn't register his tongue's caress, when he ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth. Saliva-feeding aliens? Stranger things have occurred, I suppose. I'm sorry, but I don't recall when.

    "Kyle!" Kyle could hear his mother calling from the basement. "Please hurry! You still have breakfast to eat before the bus arrives!"

    Kyle sighed and began putting on his clothes, beginning with his favourite off-white slacks with big pockets on the lower legs. Two pens and a mechanical pencil were still clipped to the aperture of the right-hand pocket. He hurriedly put on a shirt and tied his shoes before heading for the stairwell, pausing for a moment to pat Salem. Kyle's deep strokes caused the long-haired cat to yawn and arch his back. "I'm guessing you'd never refer to me as Dragon Breath?" Kyle patted the purring cat one last time before rushing down the stairwell, jackhammering every second stair. He skipped the last four stairs with a long-legged jump, bringing his tennis shoes in for a slap landing against the wood floor.

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