GET UP now!Joel pushed himself up and looked around. The voice—he couldn’t tell if it was male or female—had come from somewhere in the room. But he was alone.Get up! Get up! Get up!He had no idea how it was possible, but the voice seemed to be coming from all sides of his bed. On your feet and get dressed! Hurry!Urgency bloomed in his chest. He had no idea why, but he knew he had to listen to the voice, to trust it, do as it asked. He jumped out of bed, grabbed his Stanford hoodie off the floor, and donned it and his jeans. He didn’t bother with socks, just shoved his feet into his shoes and tied them faster than he ever had before.As he crossed the room, the voice spoke again. Quiet.He eased the door open and crept down the hallway. When he reached the living room, he peeked in. His mother was at one end of the couch, leaning to the side, asleep. On the coffee table sat an empty wineglass and the TV remote, the tableau of her nightly ritual. He snuck past her with more caution than he knew was necessary.
