My throat suddenly felt tight and dry. My legs were trembling. “Peter, it’s not a good joke,” I said. “Stop it. Just stop it, okay? Open your eyes and get
going!”
He didn’t move. His steady breaths—whoosh… whoosh… whoosh—suddenly sounded deafening to me.
“What are we going to do?” I gasped.
“Tickle him,” Addie suggested. “That’ll wake him up!”
“Yes!” I cried. “Peter is totally ticklish.”
I plunged both hands into his ribs and started to tickle. His head bounced around lifelessly. His eyes remained shut. His mouth dropped open, but he
didn’t laugh.
I tickled harder. Harder. I dug my fingers into his sides, so hard I knew I was hurting him.
“Wake up!” I screamed. “Peter, wake up!”
“Open your eyes, please!” Addie begged. She had her hands clasped tightly in front of her as if praying. I saw tears in her eyes. “Please, Peter,
please!”
And then I had my hands on both of his shoulders, and I was shaking him. Shaking him. Shaking him.
And screaming. Screaming without even hearing myself.
“He won’t wake up! What are we going to do? What are we going to DO?”