The Boy Who Couldn't Sleep and Never Had To Read Online Free PDF

like he’s never spent the night at somebody’s house before. He has pajamas. Not, like, feety pajamas or anything, but clothes that are specifically for sleeping. An oversize T-shirt with some microchip-company logos, and a pair of gym shorts.
    â€œDo you want a pillow?” I ask.
    â€œOh, right,” he says. “I forgot my pillow. Knew I forgot something.”
    â€œNo problem,” I say, and throw him one from my bed.
    We talk about the opening chase sequence through feudal Japan for a little while longer. When discussing the extra-fat Japanese warlord Praetoreous escapes from via riddles, we draw numerous comparisons to Patti Helzburg then we both go silent and I fall asleep pretty quickly.
    â€œFAGGOT PATROL! FAGGOT PATROL!”
    I wake up to screaming out in front of the house. It sounds like my brother’s friend Alan’s sister Cathy.
    â€œShut the fuck up Cathy you bitch!” my brother yells in what he calls his “wifebeater” voice, which is basically the world’s worst bad Southern accent. “Shut the fuck up!”
    There’s a loud smacking sound. Cathy screams then laughs like a witch.
    I sit up. The TV is on. Eric’s awake, sitting up in his sleeping bag, playing Threat Monster: Blue, the game we were playingbefore. Or at least I think he is. It’s two characters I haven’t seen before, and a totally different level. A panda in a mechanized bodysuit fights a kabuki guy whose right arm is a crossbow in a vertical neon city at night.
    â€œAre you the panda or the kabuki guy?” I say.
    â€œOh, hey,” Eric says. “The ninjas are back.” Eric leans forward to turn the TV off.
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” I say, and he leans back and keeps playing. “Did they wake you up?”
    â€œNo. I was up. I woke up earlier. They just got back. I’m the panda. Don’t worry, I saved your game and started a new one.” The TV is muted. The controller buttons click.
    â€œRAPE! RAPE! RAPE!” my brother shouts out on the lawn.
    â€œCathy, stop raping him! Stop RAY-PING him,” Alan screams in a terrible British accent. “He’s moi MATE!”
    â€œYour brother and his friends sure know how to have fun on a Friday night,” Eric says.
    â€œIt’s Saturday morning now,” I say. It is. The sun’s starting to come up behind my blinds.
    We stay up until like nine playing with all the new characters Eric’s unlocked and then he walks home. I sleep the whole rest of the day and try to ignore Cathy and my brother in my brother’s room laughing and yelling and whatever else all day.
    I don’t know anybody who thinks Cecelia Martin is cute. Her and Jen Ackerman and Teresa Saylor make up this little clique of I don’t know exactly what you would call them. Goth girls? They wear baggy black jeans and spiked belts and black T-shirts with Invader Zim on them and black eyeliner and their hair is always dyed in chunks and colors that make it look like they did it with highlighter, which they may have.
    Cecelia walks next to me out of English on Monday.
    â€œDo you hang out with Eric Lederer?” she says. Her voice is too high for her body.
    â€œYeah…” I say.
    â€œOh, like, just so you know,” she says, “he’s weird. Like, really weird.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œHe was like obsessed with me for a while. He saw on my Namespot page that we liked the same music or something, so he thought we were like soul mates or something.”
    â€œHuh,” I say. “That is weird.”
    â€œHe told me …” she says.
    â€œTold you what?”
    â€œAnyway,” she says, “he’s weird. I think he might be like one of those school shooters or something.”
    â€œWhy do you think that?”
    â€œHe was like obsessed with The Boy Who Cried Sparrow,” she says. “Like obsessed.”
    â€œYou think he’s a school