28 - the Cuckoo Clock of Doom

Cover 28 - the Cuckoo Clock of Doom
What day was it? What year was it?
I had no idea.
I climbed out of bed—it seemed farther away from the floor than it used to—and padded across the hall to the bathroom.
I stared in the mirror. How old was I? Younger than I’d been the day before, I knew that much.
I went back to my room and began to get dressed. Mom had left my clothes for the day folded on a chair in my room.
I examined the jeans I was supposed to wear. They had a picture of a cowboy on the back pocket.
Oh, yeah, I remembered.
...These jeans. The cowboy jeans.
Second grade.
That means I must be seven years old now.
I stepped into the pants, thinking, I can’t believe I have to wear these stupid jeans again.
Then I unfolded the shirt Mom had picked out for me.
My heart sank when I saw it: A cowboy shirt—with fringe and everything.
This is so embarrassing, I thought. How could I have ever let Mom do this to me?
Deep down I knew that I used to like these clothes. I probably picked them out myself.
But I couldn’t stand to admit that I’d ever been so stupid.
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