Ugh, I’m bored, bored, bored! I’ve got nothing to do. I’m staring at the ceiling like an idiot, lying flat on my back on the bed.

I’m Dylan, 11 years old, and dying of boredom in my room. I thought summer vacation would be fun. It’s anything but fun. Ugh, why are all my friends abroad? Why have I no idea what to do?

I look at the clock. It’s 12 pm. I swear, I looked at it an hour ago and it was 11:55. This clock’s a menace. When I want it to go fast, it slows down, moving like a rocket in space. And when I want it to go slow, it speeds up as though it’s Superman racing to save someone.

I trudge over to my bookshelf. It’s filled with figurines of random Marvel heroes and some certificates from school. A whole shelf is dedicated to the entire Wimpy Kid series.

I’m obsessed with them. I actually feel annoyed sometimes, though. I love these books and all, but the main character, Greg, acts like his life is too boring. Excuse me? Who wouldn’t enjoy his life? He broke half his house, got himself banned from a resort for his entire life, got to go on a family holiday and found his family had been hiding a great secret that blew his mind!

I picked up a book and started reading. I barely finished four pages before I was knocked out, deep in sleep. I felt my bed suddenly turn hard. I woke up and found myself sprawled on the floor. Someone else’s floor. Someone else’s bedroom!

I guessed I was still sleepy because I was seeing the bedside table near me as though it was doodled. I honestly thought I’d lost my mind. But then I could touch the bedside table and it was solid, so this wasn’t a delusion. There was a study table too, which I saw with the same doodle effect. Above it, there was a Twisted Wizard poster. Wait, that doesn’t even exist. But it’s familiar…

I heard a slow groan coming from the bed ahead. The person turned and sat up. It was Greg Heffley!

He screamed. So did I.

“Who are you?!” he yelled. “What are you doing here?!” The words he said formed above his head too, in speech bubbles, just like in the book.

“Why am I here?!” I shrieked back.

Greg looked at me. “Dude, calm down. Let’s start again. Get up from the floor.”

I steadied myself and sank into his gaming chair. “I’m Dylan. And you’re Greg, right?” He nodded, a bit confused about how I knew his name. “Listen, I was in my own bedroom, like, right now. But a few minutes later, I got here in some totally not-making-sense way.”

He started thinking. His spiky hair was so real, just like in the book. An idea struck me.

“Hey, you write journals, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said slowly and suspiciously.

“Listen, books are written about your life, okay, and you’re famous in my world. I’ve got the whole collection of the series in my room, and I was reading one of them before I got into this fiasco. So, can I have a look at your real journals for clues about why I’m stuck here?”

He looked as though my words barely registered with him. He gazed at me as though I were the stupidest guy on earth. Then the words sank in. “I’m ‘famous’?” he gasped incredulously. He fist-bumped the air. “Finally!”

“Um… the jour—”

“I’ve been waiting all my life for—”

“Dude! The JOURNALS!”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” he said sheepishly.

I took the book he handed me. It was the one that recorded the adventures from The Long Haul.

“Um, anyway,” Greg said, peeking over my shoulder, “will I get any credit for what I do? Or better, any money for it? Or at least my own march? ’Cause living my life can be hard, and if it’s ready-made material for someone to write into a—”

“Seriously, Greg?” I said through gritted teeth. He fell silent.

“Um… Dylan, right?” he asked timidly. I nodded. “So, you’re sure this isn’t like magic and stuff?”

“What? That’s ridiculous.”

“Anyway, you can stay if you want. Maybe it’ll all go back to normal.”

“Yeah…”

“C’mon, let’s play video games,” he suggested, turning on his computer.

Half an hour later, his mother came up.

“Greg, it’s too early for games…” she paused.

“Uh… Mum, this is my friend Dylan, from school,” he said hurriedly.

“His parents have gone to… Norway, and… he came here for the morning.”

“Hi, Mrs Heffley,” I said, hoping she’d buy the story, which she did.

“Wonderful,” she beamed. “Well, if you want breakfast, then hurry up.”

After enduring the breakfast chaos, I went upstairs with Greg.

“Trust me, you do not want to meet Rodrick right now,” Greg had said.

We went back to his room. I noticed a bunch of figurines there, all from Twisted Wizard, as Greg showed me.

“You can take this one,” he said, pointing at a purple ogre.

“No, it’s yours and—”

“I have a bunch of them, and to be honest, this morning was fun,” he said, handing me the plastic figurine.

“Thanks,” I said, grinning and pocketing it.

Then we started playing the game again. An hour passed, and we lay down exhausted.

“Thanks, Greg,” I said. “This was so awesome!”

“You’re welcome,” he grinned. We lay like that for a few minutes. I closed my eyes for a second. Just a second, really. Then I suddenly felt a tug on my leg. I honestly thought it was Manny, his little brother.

I jerked up, but the cartoon world was gone. I was back in my room. I could see the book I had been reading earlier on my bed. Downstairs, I could hear my mum doing the dishes. I grinned. It was a bummer that it ended, but at least I got the experience. Probably, it’s going to be one of the best stories my grandkids will hear.

I flopped on my bed, and something fell out of my pocket.

It was a purple ogre. The one Greg fought in the game, and had shown me a whole tribe of them in figurine form.

. He’d given one of them to… wait, WHAT?

Published in Dawn, Young World, January 10th, 2026