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before I head downstairs. Let Ma deal with getting Spud moving this
morning.
    At our kick-ass sweet breakfast, Spud has kept his word and got his ass downstairs
in like ten minutes, and continuously gives Ma compliment after compliment (really,
though, it’s just pancakes, not some Food Channel spectacular). He also tries to
break Zoë.
    “So, what ya doing today, Squirt?” he asks, nonchalantly, stuffing bacon in his mouth.
    He’s caught her off guard, as she was reading yet another of her summer novels and
didn’t expect our attention. That girl could read through a tornado, a roller coaster
ride, and a heat wave.
    “Um, I dunno, read, take a walk, go to the pool for a bit maybe, until we go to Uncle
Ned’s, or well, the park.” She’s looking up, stopping the chewing of her pancake.
Staring at Spud in a weird way. “Why?”
    “Just thought I’d ask. Hey, want some more syrup? You don’t have much.” He slides
the bottle of Mrs. Butterworth’s sweetly across the shiny wood kitchen table, and
it glides like a skater on ice until it stops right before Zoe’s plate. She’s seated
directly across from him, under the window where she always sits.
    “Thanks.” She picks up the bottle but is still engrossed in the adventures of whomever
in her little book and tips the bottle to pour onto her pancakes, but the cap flops
off with syrup gushing onto her plate like a waterfall! Not just her plate, but the
table around it and then onto her lap! Freaking hilarious!
    “Ahh!” she yells, scooting back and quickly putting the bottle upright, while holding
the book over her head to protect it. “Spud! You jerk! You so did not!”
    She’s standing up now, trying to wipe the sticky mess from her shirt and legs, but
oh-so-side splittingly funny, everything just sticks more to her! Her paper towel
is now stuck to her upper leg, and the table is a mess, syrup starting to drip to
the floor. Spud and I are laughing so hard that my eyes are watering! We give each
other a high five, and even Mom, who’s been quietly on the sidelines frying up more
grub, has milk coming out of her nose!
    “Um, yeah, I so think he did!” I can’t help but say, taking a big bite of my own
pancakes and shaking my head at Spud’s trick.
    “Real funny, people,” Zoë says, clearly embarrassed and exasperated, but I think
trying not to give in and laugh. She’s frantically wiping at her legs with paper
towels, which are sticking to her like bits of confetti. She’s such a mess! “God!”
    “Sorry, Zoë. It was just a little joke. I didn’t think that much would flow out of
the bottle. It is funny though, right, little one?” Spud has recovered from the giggle
fit and has gotten up to help clean the mess, grabbing a rag from the sink.
    “Yeah, real funny. Ma, I’m done. Now, I need another shower.” She sighs, deeply annoyed,
and starts to storm toward the stairs, still trying to wipe the sticky syrup from
her legs. Clearly pissed? Can’t she have a little fun?
    “Oh, honey, you don’t need a whole shower. Just a wet rag to wipe it off. It’s going
to be just fine.” Mom is now wetting another rag in the sink for Zoë.
    “Sure, you’re not the one covered in this gooey, crappy, dumb syrup. Yeah, Jack,
keep laughing. Payback’s a bit--.” She stops because Ma is right there. “What comes
around goes around,” she says instead, her eyebrows arched like she might have some
plan, as if. Then she stomps up to her shower, leaving Ma to hold the helpful wet
dishrag.
    “Dude, I thought she’d laugh it off,” Spud remarks, now having all the mess cleaned
up from the table. “Sorry, Ma, I thought it would be a funny joke.”
    “Oh,” Mom says, wiping the table and chair once more, “it was funny. Zoë’s just going
through a phase. Anyone for more pancakes? Bacon? Milk?”
    “For sure! You’re the best cook ever, Ma! I’m good on the milk, but I’ll have another
pancake.” What a charmer he can be.
    Mom glows as she pours