Chapter 5

chapter five This wasteland world beyond Wakefield is strange. It is lush, overgrown, and wild. Greens and pinks and oranges and blues. It's like a warped version of the old world— ripped, stretched, and recolored by some angry kid with a crayon. It's pretty scary. But at least it's pretty scary. In fact, if Jack was here—I'd use his camera to snap a pic of the strange scenery. But like I said, I'm alone. Without my friends. Now, don't get me wrong, my friends are rad. But they stink! Like, literally—their bodies emit foul odors. And okay, I know, I probably don't exactly smell like the inside of a Bath & Body Works myself. Personal hygiene is nobody's number

one priority during the apocalypse. Plus, washing leads to serious FOMO—what's worse than being in the shower, hearing something super fun going on outside, racing to finish up, hop out, dry off—and then by the time you're dressed, all the fun is over! But at least I make an effort! I swear, it's like Jack and Quint and Dirk are proud of their mussy morning hair, lazy tooth brushing, and ability to "burp supersonically." But our monster friends are even worse...

Right now, though, the only stink that I smell is MY OWN STINK. And I start to grin as I realize... you know what this means? June adventure, June, an adventure. Time for a June solo adventure. Or, wait... does "June Solo Adventure" sound too much like a Star Wars thing? Like an adventure about Han Solo's kid sister

"June Solo"? I mean, I know Han doesn't have a kid sister, 'cause Quint has explained the Solo and Skywalker family bloodlines to me about a dozen times even though I could not care any— "WAIT!" I exclaim, and I actually exclaim it out loud, to no one. "Quint's not here! I can call this whatever kind of adventure I want! And JUNE SOLO ADVENTURE IT IS!" And the goal of this June Solo Adventure? Get back to Wakefield. But that's when IT hits me. And the IT isn't a thought or an idea—the IT is a thing. A wet and rubbery and gooey thing that hits me in the face at about a thousand miles an hour—

SMACK. HEY GIRLFRIEND. For the second time in, like, three minutes, I sit up—dazed, confused, hurting. This time, the source of the pain is sitting in my lap: Globlet! "You hit me like a missile made of gum," I say, rubbing my face. "What are you doing here?!"

Oh boy. Where to start first. I was hatched then there were many years of frolicking Then the apocalypse. I got transferred here from another dimension, then some other stuff. And the end. Never mind. I'm just glad to see you. "But," I say, "guess it's not one hundred percent a June Solo Adventure anymore...." "Nope. GIRLS' ADVENTURE!" I grin. Globlet can glow like a night-light and she thinks that everything I do is terrific. Who wouldn't want an uncharted wasteland companion like—