It seemed that, no matter what grade you were in, Monday was bad news.
Nichole sighed and shook her head. Was Gavon out again? This would be the third school day in a row, and he hadn't replied to her email.
"Well, how's the Cat today?" Jacob Gibbs leaned back on the railing, cigarette in hand.
Nichole grimaced. "I wish you wouldn't call him that. And for God's sake, put that thing out."
Jacob flashed a smile. He ground the butt out on his palm; Nichole wondered if his callouses came from doing that often. I wouldn't like to shake one of those hands.
She sighed. "I'm worried about him."
"Friend of his, are you?"
"Not like that. We've known each other since middle school."
Jacob nodded. "Ok, then how's Gavon doing?"
"Dunno. His mom said she'd take him to the doctor today." Nichole drummed her heels on the rail. "Do you remember what Ms. Belle said about sleeping disorders?"
"Yeah."
"I think he's got one of those."
Jacob repeated, "Yeah."
**
Gavon buried his head in his hands. The verdict was in: narcolepsy.
Basically, the doctor had explained, that meant his brain's "sleep" signals had been skewed. He'd suffer no worse than the occasional sleeping spell-- or "slump," as he privately called it.
To him, it meant disaster.
Kids were already teasing him, calling him "Catnap Parker" or just "The Cat." Yesterday he'd found a caricature on his locker door: a picture of him with pointed ears and a tail. Whoever did it was good, adding insult to injury.
All in good fun, he thought. Right.
