A DISGUISTING SCENE

I hate mystery casseroles. When Mrs. Moss spooned out a fishy mixture, I pleaded as cutely as possible, “May o pretty please have a bowl of cereal instead?”
“Well, okay,” Mrs. Moss said with a sly grin. She poured a meager portion of Lucky Charms into a plastic bowl, and then she rummaged in the refrigerator for a gallon of milk. It poured thickly with some chunks plopping into the bowl, and I carried it outside to the little plastic table where the kids usually ate our meals. It sloshed on the table as I set it down.
Luke said longingly, “I wish I had some.”
The first swallow made me gag. I ran to the hose and rinsed out my mouth. When I cam e back from to the table, Luke was shoveling the cereal in his mouth as fast as he could.
“Luke! That is disgusting!”
“It´s yummy in my tummy!”
Nausea overwhelmed me. I rushed toward the house, AS usual, the door was bolted. I banged on it. Mr. Moss came to the door holding his napkin.
“Gotta go!” I blurted. AS I rushed toward the bathroom, my stomach lurched. A flume of vomit arched onto the floor.
“You´ve ruined the carpet!” Mrs. Moss screeched. She gripped my hair and pushed my face into the puke. I don´t know what was worse: the taste of the curdled milk, watching Luke eat the sickening concoction, vomiting, being humiliated, smelling my mess up close, or having to clean it up, which I couldn´t do to her satisfaction. Later, as the sour smell lingered, Mrs. Moss reminded everyone that it had been my fault as made me stand in the corner.