Laurels Literary Magazine Fall 2015 | Page 57

Sanders ran his hand over his eyes before retreating to the living room. “If you want,” he offered, searching for a more uplifting maid.” “About that—” Jack croaked. The words were mud clods in his mouth. “Honey?” called his mother’s angelic voice from the living room. “I think I got it.” Pandemonium erupted as Jack, Abby, mother, father, and barking terrier crowded around the computer screen. It showed a blank beige wall. Abby giggled and waved her hand, delighted to discover a tiny, jumpy picture of herself waving in the corner of the Mr. Sanders cleared his throat. “Hi, Son!” “Hi, Dad!” “Hey, Patch.” “’Sup, bro?” standing on tiptoe to see over the others’ shoulders. “How was class today, honey?” “Class hasn’t started yet. We’re still doing orientation. I’ll call you on Monday night after Philosophy 1. I’ve only got one class Mondays.” “Are there any pretty girls there?” “Shut up, Abby,” smirked Jack. “Jackson, go to your room.” “But Dad, I—” “Now.” “He gets in these moods where he thinks he’s the emperor of the planet and—” “That’s okay, Mom, I’m sure he’s just getting used to me 45