The Day Mira's World Got All Wobbly

The morning light crept through Mira's curtains in thin golden stripes, painting patterns on her bedroom wall where a poster of a purple dragon with sparkly wings hung proudly. Mira was still curled up under her quilt, her brown hair a tangled mess of sleep, when the first strange feeling arrived. It started in her stomach—a twisty, turny sensation, like someone had taken a pretzel and was slowly, slowly twisting it tighter and tighter inside her belly.

She opened one eye and looked at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling. Maybe she was hungry? That must be it. Mira sat up and rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the weird feeling. On her desk, half-finished drawings of dragons in various poses lay scattered next to a cup full of colorful markers. There was one dragon she'd been working on for three days now—a wise old dragon named Ember who had scales that shifted from gold to deep crimson depending on her mood. Mira had plans to give Ember a magnificent library inside a mountain, filled with books and cushions and a sleeping cat named Biscuit.

Biscuit. Where was Biscuit?

Mira spotted her gray cat curled up at the foot of her bed, his orange-and-white patched fur soft and warm. She reached down and scratched behind his ears, and Biscuit purred like a tiny motorboat engine.

"Good morning, Biscuit," Mira whispered. "Do you think there are dragons that are scared of things too? Like, what if a dragon woke up and didn't want to go flying because she was worried she might bump into a cloud wrong?"

Biscuit blinked slowly at her, which Mira decided meant yes.

She padded over to her dresser and picked up her favorite blue hairbrush—the one with the princess who had the magic wand that turned frogs into princes. She'd never actually turned anything into a prince, but sometimes she imagined the wand could turn anything into anything. That seemed like a nice kind of magic.

As Mira brushed through her tangles, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her dark eyes looked back at her, and she noticed they were a little wide, a little round, like she was constantly on the lookout for something. She couldn't remember feeling this way yesterday. Yesterday had been great! She'd had art class where Mrs. Chen said her drawing of a dragon hoarding musical instruments instead of gold was "exceptionally creative." Yesterday, she'd played kickball at recess and hadn't cared at all when she struck out because Priya and Marcus had struck out too, and then they'd all made up a silly song about it on the bus ride home.

But today... today felt different.

Mira finished brushing her teeth and walked downstairs to the kitchen, where she could hear the familiar sounds of her mom making breakfast. The smell of pancakes drifted through the air, sweet and warm and comforting. Her little brother, Theo, was already at the table, stacking blueberries into a pyramid formation on his plate.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" Mom said, flipping a pancake with a dramatic flourish. "I made your favorite—chocolate chip!"

Mira climbed onto her usual chair, the one with the wobbly leg that her dad kept saying he'd fix but never did. The chair creaked underneath her, and she wiggled to get comfortable. She picked up her fork, ready to dig in, but the fork felt strange in her hand. Heavy. Like it weighed a thousand pounds.

"You okay, sweetie?" Mom asked, setting a plate of pancakes in front of her. "You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," Mira said automatically. She tried to smile, but her cheeks felt stiff, like the smile was a mask she was wearing.

The pancakes looked delicious—golden brown with melty chocolate chips scattered throughout. Mira cut a small piece and put it in her mouth. It tasted like nothing. Or maybe like cardboard. Or like the feeling you'd get if you ate a cloud that was made of disappointment.

"Something's wrong with the pancakes," Mira said.

Mom raised her eyebrows. "Wrong? They're the exact same pancakes I make every Saturday."

"They taste weird."

"Maybe you're coming down with something?" Mom reached over and placed her cool hand on Mira's forehead. "You don't feel warm. How's your tummy?"

At the word "tummy," Mira's stomach did another somersault, the pretzel twisting again. She put her fork down.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I feel... weird."

"Weird how?"

Mira tried to find the right words. How do you describe a feeling that's not quite pain but not quite comfort either? It was like being on a roller coaster, but the roller coaster was inside her body, and she was strapped in and couldn't get off.

"Like... nervous? But I don't know why."

Theo looked up from his blueberry pyramid, a chocolate chip stuck to his chin. "Maybe you have a dragon in your tummy! Like in that book you read me, where the dragon eats too many hot dogs and gets a tummy ache."

Despite everything, Mira almost smiled. "Dragons don't get tummy aches from hot dogs. They breathe fire, remember? Hot dogs would probably explode inside them."

"Then they explode and you burp fire and you turn into a dragon and you can fly!"

"That's not how it works, Theo."

"Would be cool though," he said, returning to his blueberries, satisfied with his contribution to the conversation.

Mom sat down across from Mira, her coffee cup held between both hands, steam curling up around her face. "Is there something happening today that's making you nervous? A test at school maybe?"

The test. The math test.

Mira had completely forgotten about it until this exact moment. Now, with the force of a tidal wave, the memory crashed over her. The pop quiz Mr. Patterson had announced on Friday. Fractions. Improper fractions and mixed numbers and converting between the two. She remembered sitting at her desk, doodling a tiny dragon in the corner of her notebook while Mr. Patterson explained how to turn three and a half into seven halves. She hadn't been listening very well. She'd been distracted by trying to decide if her dragon should have wings or not.

Now that same math sat in her brain like a stone sitting on her chest.

"I... yeah. There's a math test," Mira said quietly.

"Oh, honey." Mom's face softened. "I thought you said that quiz was going to be easy."

"I thought it would be too. But now I have to take it and I don't remember how to do any of it and what if I fail and what if everyone else gets perfect scores and I'm the only one who doesn't know what a denominator is and—"

"Mira. Mira." Mom reached across and took her hand. "Breathe. Just breathe. One thing at a time."

But breathing felt hard. Mira noticed that her heart had started to beat faster, pounding against her ribs like someone was playing drums inside her chest. Boom, boom, boom. It was so loud she was sure everyone could hear it. She became aware of her hands, how they were trembling slightly, and the sweat that had broken out on her palms despite the cool morning air.

"I don't want to go to school," Mira blurted out.

The words surprised her. She always wanted to go to school. She had friends there. She had art class. She had the reading corner in the library with the squishy cushions where she liked to pretend she was a knight in a tower, guarding all the books from dragons who would definitely want to read them if they knew how.

"What's going on?" Dad appeared in the kitchen doorway, still in his bathrobe, his hair sticking up in three different directions. "I heard 'don't want to go to school.' Are you sick?"

"She has a math test," Mom explained.

"Ah." Dad nodded knowingly. "The math test. The one you've been saying you're totally prepared for all week?"

"I thought I was!"

"And you probably are," Dad said, walking over and giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You've been practicing those fraction problems. Remember? We played that fraction pizza game on Wednesday."

"That was different."

"How was it different?"

"Because..." Mira struggled to explain. "Because when it's just us at home, it's not real. But at school, i