Free The Reality Bug by D.J. MacHale

going on.
    I cautiously left my room. The upstairs hallway had all the same pictures, the same rug, the same doors, the same everything. I half walked, half floated down the stairs, through the living room, past the dining room and straight into the kitchen. When I poked my head in, I saw a scene that was totally normal and totally impossible at the same time.
    The table was set for breakfast. Mom was scooping scrambled eggs from a pan; Dad was sitting in his normal spot, pouring orange juice for everyone; Shannon sat at her place, politely waiting for everyone to sit so she could begin; and Marley sat on the floor at Shannon’s side, waiting with equal patience for somebody to drop food on the floor.
    I stood in the doorway, staring. Part of me wanted to dive into that kitchen, throw my arms around everybody and cry like a baby. Another part of me wanted to turn and run.
    Finally Mom saw me and said, “Eat. You can’t be late.”
    I didn’t know what else to do, so I drifted over to the table and sat down at my place. It was the place by the window where I had eaten since I was old enough to sit up. It was the place I never thought I’d take again, since my house and family and everything I had ever known had disappeared.
    But now they were back.
    I must have looked as stunned as I felt, because my father said, “You all right, Bobby?”
    I wasn’t sure how to answer him, because I wasn’t. “To be honest, Dad, I’m a little confused.”
    â€œAbout what, sweetheart?” Mom asked innocently.
    I chose my words carefully, knowing just how ridiculous they would sound. “Has anything … odd happened?”
    Dad asked, “Like what?”
    Shannon chimed in. “We’re having bacon for breakfast. That’s odd.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Mom asked while taking her place at the table. I sat looking at my family. The three of them looked back at me over their plates of bacon and eggs, waiting for me to say something. Marley poked her brown rubbery nose up from below the table and looked at me too, though I think she was more interested in sniffing out the bacon. I didn’t say anything. Instead, I picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite. It was as delicious as any bacon I’d ever had. Done just the way I liked it too. Not too crispy. I didn’t know why that surprised me, but it did.
    Finally I dropped the bacon on my plate and stood up. “I …I’m not hungry. I better get dressed.” I left the table, headed for the door to the dining room.
    â€œBut you have to eat something before the game!” Mom called after me.
    â€œI’ll get something later,” I yelled back.
    I was going mental. If my parents had said: “Well, Bobby, you were in a coma for the last year and a half,” I would have understood. That would have meant that everything about the territories had been a dream. But they didn’t. They acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.
    There was only one possible explanation. It must have been a dream. A really long, detailed, incredible dream that happened all in one night. Isn’t that how it worked with Scrooge from A Christmas Carol ? I read somewhere that dreams may seem long, but they really only last a few seconds. I figured that must have been what happened to me. As I walked back toward the stairs, I began to accept that possibility. A few moments crept by where I actually started to relax. I was home. The nightmare was over. Everything was going to be normal.
    That warm, fuzzy feeling didn’t last long.
    I walked by a mirror and saw my reflection. What I saw wasn’t the image of the guy who had kissed Courtney, then got on the back of Uncle Press’s motorcycle bound for the flume. No way. This guy was older. About a year and a half older, to be exact. Everything in this house was the exact same as I remembered it … except for me. In that