The Worst Saturday Ever

By Kala Allen Omeiza

Society has labeled 12-year-old Samuel as one of the Glutatribes. That means he has some things to hide if he wants to properly assimilate into the majority Serotribe world. For now, he struggles to understand jokes. And to get his crush Amber to notice him. Oh, and he also feels pain, which no member of the Serotribe can.

All of this wou

• Language: English
• Publisher: I'm Heard
• Release date: Nov 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798985662542

Book preview

PROLOGUE

AMBER:

It’s the Wild West, circa 1883. The days with the untamed cowboys and thirsty, dry air. Maybe some aliens too. The streets are tough, and there’s a daily gunfight happening in the middle of the street—just kidding.

It’s just the boring modern times. We’re definitely not in the wild west, but at a grocery store parking lot. As if it can’t get any more ordinary.

The noise here is too much for a glutatribe like me. Part human, full glutatribe, and 200% aware of all of my senses—ordinary, right?

Okay, I think I’ll explain later. Look, all you need to know is that I’m just a Glutatribe surrounded by a crowd of Serotribes. Well, we’re all surrounding a scene.

Leave him alone, man! That's one of the Serotribes.

He ain’t do nothing! That’s another one.

Move out of the way Serotribes, I can’t see! That’s me. I can’t narrate what’s happening if I don’t see all the action, can I?

The Serotribes still don’t move, but I’m still trying to push through.

The po-bots are holding sticks that can end the lifelines of both Glutatribes and Serotribes with just one flick. There are only two sticks, even though there are four people involved. The stick is in the hands of both po-bots: our gross, slithery algorithms that help fight crime.

Move! I shout to the crowd, and slowly plunge myself through. Weaving through quicker because the Serotribes are musingly holding their phones in the air, videotaping I believe. This group of Neuotribes belong to the Serophone community… I’ll also explain that later.

The po-bots are still pointing their sticks. Just like a Wild West gunfight. Except I don’t know where those po-bots kept their sticks because they look like slithery boxy snakes. Maybe in their mouths? Either way, naturally, I look around for a tumbleweed to add a dramatic effect.

I spot one…or something close. It’s a ball, currently being occupied by a very small serotribe. She’s smaller than me.

Move! I shout, eyeing the ball from afar while knocking one of the Serotribe’s phones out of their way. It’s the Serotribe’s lifeline in more ways than one. The Serotribe’s struggled to pick it up and utter in my direction, but all the racket was drowning out their words.

I finally move to the small serotribe and her ball. She’s just a little girl, her height only reaching to my ribcage. I hit her on her left shoulder. She frowns, but it doesn't hurt her. Nothing will. She puts her ball down, and reaches to touch her shoulder to assess how much of her lifeline she needs to recharge—and that’s when I grab it.

Hey! She shouts, but it’s too late, because I’ve already squeezed through two more Serotribes, making me out of view.

Now I have my tumbleweed for effect. I push my way to the front, and get ready to direct the greatest cinematic masterpiece this ordinary world has ever seen.

Move! I shout one last time, and squeeze past the last serotribe standing in my way in the front row. Now I can see everything, and I take a look at my view. I roll the ball as if I’m the first- string pitcher at a gym class kickball game: gracefully towards my target.

Whoosh! I did it. The ball rolls in between the first po-bot and Samuel, just like a tumbleweed.

The po-bots look in my direction. I shrug, feigning innocence. Maybe now is not the time to claim my cinematic masterpiece. I know that now.

The crowd gets quiet, until I feel a hard tap on my shoulder. It hurts for me. It’s the little girl, standing on a male Serophone’s shoulders.

Tap Tap. She does it again. It hurts even more. How are small Serotribes this strong?

It was her! she shrieks, pointing at me in front of everyone. Then the crowd looks at me. For once, I wish they look away.

My wish is granted, but in the worst way possible. The life-ending sticks are out. The stick turns into lightning, well, the slow kind of lightning. The slow lighting that takes forever to make it to the sky, and then comes back down on its victim, rendering them instantly out of lifelines.

A few people scream.

Everyone’s stopped looking at me. The little girl and the man have fled. The rest of the crowd is staring and shouting straight at the po-bots, Samuel and Will once again.

Now it’s all really coming clear to me. This isn’t an ordinary day in this ordinary world.

My friends' lifelines are in danger. I shake my head, say No, no! and tremble violently. Chaos arises in this grocery store parking version of the Wild West. For a moment, I’m blending in with the serotribe crowd for the first time ever. But there’s no time to be happy about that. I want to save the day. So I turn around to the crowd, fight my way back through, and search for another tumbleweed.

CHAPTER 1

SAMUEL:

It’s hard to function when you’re hurt, especially when 90% of the world can’t feel pain.

I’m rubbing my leg after accidentally brushing against a prickly wall. We’re in this strange building that’s totally lacking in bubble wrap and much less any fashion sense. My older sister has a brilliant game plan; that plan might either harm me or change me—that is, into a pain-lacking, awkward-lacking, normal Serotribe.

Five. Five other kids are involved in this game plan; three Serotribes, like my mom, Natasha, and the rest of the world, and two other Glutatribes, like me. Usually, we Glutatribes are pretty isolated from the rest of the world. We attend a different school and are involved in much safer, bubble-wrapped activities. Natasha (the golden child she is) decided to put us together for her high school project. Now, the Glutatribes and the Serotribes are sitting on the other side of the room.

Are you ready?! Natasha squealed at the breakfast table this morning, and at first, I flinched at the sudden noise before staring back at her. Mom gently kicked me under the table.

For Friend-In-Me! Natasha squealed again, and I still stared.

Then I felt my mom gently kick Natasha.

Today’s the first day. Mom insisted.

I stared.

Your sister’s new organization.

I stared.

Connecting a Glutatribe school with a Serotribe one!

I stared.

To be friends! Natasha said, or even pleaded.

I stared.

I’ll match you with a new buddy from the boys’ and girls’ program. You’ll be making a new friend. You and all your friends in Sorrel Heights. For Friend-In-Me Program.

I stared.

I blinked.

I slunk into my seat.

Today is Saturday. And I am a Glutatribe. And I forgot I have to perform for the golden child and pair up with someone around here who is Serotribe but at-risk, whatever that means. I wonder if I’m at-risk too.

At the risk of being laughed at by a Serotribe person. Or stood up. Or lost.

I was just fine when all I had to worry about was fitting in at my school.

Speaking of that, that makes four. I have at least four assignments due next week, but I can’t work on them because I’m here. Still rubbing my leg. Natasha gets up from her seat and whispers something that sounds like, Don’t embarrass me today, Samuel.

She smiles and makes a funny face before saying, And be yourself, too.

I nod, but I don’t tell her I will. Being myself doesn't work for Glutatribes. It’s a recipe for bullying outside of Sorrel Heights Middle School.

Natasha is mumbling and talking with her friend Rashaad on stage before they turn to face us at the front.

Her friend takes a thorny microphone and introduces himself as Rashaad. He says he’s classmates with Natasha and is excited to be an executive leader in Friend-IN-Me. He says it was a long process in the making behind the scenes, and they’re very proud of what they’ve accomplished and thankful for the parents and caregivers who let their children join in the pilot program.

And without further ado: Introducing the golden queen, the woman of the hour, Natasha O’Brian!

One of my teachers taught me that counting down from five is a way to make life less stressful, and I wouldn’t need it any more than now.

Three. There are three boys, not including me. I know one of them, a Glutatribe named Chester, who uses a wheelchair—my best friend in school (even though we’re in a rough patch because he avoids me all the time): like in science class when he refused to be my lab partner.

Two. There are two girls. One Serotribe and one Glutatribe, the Glutatribe just so happens to be the prettiest girl in the