“Just swallow quick and you won’t feel it squirm,” Abby says.

I wipe my palms on my jeans. No way. There is no way. Abby holds the spider by one leg and, I swear, its hairs sway with the breeze and I think about the feel of that spider in my throat.

Think about how it will stick, those spindly legs working their way back onto my tongue and then I think about the taste.

“You won’t have to bite it or anything,” Abby says.

My stomach pushes towards my tonsils. My breakfast tries to surface. I swallow it back, though I want to let it fly, dream of spewing Cheerios in Abby’s face. I smile. Accidentally. The idea of splitting that spider with my teeth, knowing it will squirt, erases that smile. I also know if I puke on Abby, I’m a goner…

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