Zilla's Adventure

“Oh, no.”

I frantically searched the glass terrarium for any sign of my scaly companion.  Just the glimpse of a triangular head or flat, foot-and-a-half body would let me know she was still basking in the warm glow of her heat lamp.  Her tail wasn’t even poking out from among the rocks where she would lie to absorb the life-giving heat.  I probably should have known by the ajar lid that my suspicions were ominously true, but I wasn’t thinking clearly after pulling that all-nighter to study for my Spanish test.  My little pet dragon had left her enclosure sometime between last night and the time I, customary dish of roaches, pears, and parsley in hand, discovered she was gone.

Mom would not be happy about this.

Well, Mom had this thing about dragons--reptiles in general, actually--and my dragon wasn’t ever supposed to leave my room.  Little Zilla, short for Godzilla, really was harmless, but Mom just failed to realize that my dragon was as well-behaved and family friendly as our dog, Sampson.  The only reason I had gotten Zilla was Dad secretly bought her for me for my last birthday.  But ever since the divorce, things were on edge…most of all, the issue of me keeping Zilla.  Now, I’d probably have to get rid of her.

A shriek echoed from the kitchen: “Ale-e-ex!”  Mom didn’t sound too happy.

I turned to sprint off towards what was probably Mom having a freak-out session over Zilla, but I tripped on something--my book bag, probably--and watched in horror as Zilla’s meal went flying into the air.  By the time I got to my feet, it was raining her special diet of pears, parsley, and live roaches onto my desk and, consequently, the stack of homework assignments located there.  “Just great, “ I murmured, trying to scoop up the writhing mass of insects and fodder.  Several roaches did manage to wriggle from my grasp and out of sight.

Mom definitely would not be happy.

“Coming, Mom!”  Dumping the remainder of what was Zilla’s carefully portioned meal into her empty terrarium, I carefully jogged down the hall to the kitchen.  “Look, Mom, I’m so, so sorry.  I don’t know how it happened…”

I looked up from my sticky and roach-waste-covered hands to see Mom staring intently at a folded bit of paper.  “Oh, you know full well how it happened!”  She looked up, face puckered in her imitation of a Sun-Maid raisin.  “A ‘C’?”  Mom sighed and threw down what I supposed was my freshly-opened report card.  “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that to get a scholarship.”

“Oh.”  I hastily wiped my hands on the seat of my pants, trying to be casual.  At least she didn’t know about Zilla, so I scanned the kitchen for my little pet.  “I know, Mom.  Sorry…I’ll get that ‘C’ right up to a ‘B’-plus; I promise.”  Finally, I laid eyes on a familiar, sandy figure lying on the laundry basket.  A stream of bright sunlight was shining on her scales, and she seemed content on her perch of my black T-shirt.

“You’d better,” Mom said, bending down to the laundry basket and taking it in her arms.  “Until then, I’ll be running a tight ship around here.”  In horror, I watched Mom turn into the utility room, presumably to wash my clothes.

“Wait,” I cried, taking the basket and hoping Mom either hadn’t or wouldn’t see Zilla.  “I still have a few clothes in my room.  Be right back.”

Mom jerked back the basket.  “Get them.”  She tossed some crumpled socks into the washing machine.  “I won’t start the load until then.”

The clothes were getting dangerously low in the basket.  All the time, I could see Zilla trying to find a bright patch of sun.  “No, no; it’s fine.”  I took up the shirt Zilla was lying on, carefully cradling her delicate body and covering her scales with the fabric.  “But I need to wear this one tomorrow,” I spurted out, almost breathing a sigh of relief.  Now Mom wouldn’t have to know about Zilla’s adventure unless she caught the loose roaches roaming in my room.

“All right.”  Mom had the word ‘suspicious’ written across her face as clear as possible, but I didn’t think that she knew what I was up to.  “What for?”

“Uh…nothing,” I murmured, turning to walk from the narrow utility room.  “School project…extra credit if I dress up.”

I didn’t hear her response.  Instead, I saw the shaggy blur of my dog bounding towards me.

“SAMPSON, NO-O-O!”

Flat on my back, I struggled to fight the huge paws off of my chest and slapped the muzzle away from where Zilla was hiding.  “Bad Sampson!”  Too late, Zilla was in Sampson’s overly large mouth, clamped between his teeth.  ‘Thank goodness he has a soft mouth,’ I sighed to myself, motioning for Sampson to drop Zilla from his chops.  I cradled Zilla on my chest.

“ALEX!”  There was no mistaking that Mom had seen Zilla.  “What have I said about that bearded dragon of yours?”

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