rumbling lawn mowers and weed eaters started early Saturday mornings on Giddyup Lane. Most of the neighbors tried to get their lawn work out of the way before the heat and humidity set in, which occurred about mid-day. This Saturday was no different. Sam listened as he lay motionless in his comfortable bed, staring up at his dragon posters. He was tired; he had stayed up until three o’clock in the morning, riddled with guilt for making his mom cry. He had spent the time cleaning his room. He felt that was the least he could do.
His clothes sat in eight neat piles on the floor. His shoes, video games, controllers, books, and magazines were all painstakingly organized in his closet. His computer sat neatly on its desk with the words UPDATES AVAILABLE flashing in the lower right corner. He had removed mugs and drinking glasses from the top of his dresser. Only the family Christmas picture that they had taken when he was five remained. Sarah and his mother had the same short haircut, and Sam was wearing that ridiculous blue and white snowman sweater.
Sam glanced up at his alarm clock. It was ten o’clock, and the smell of bacon was wafting through the air from the vents above. He could hear the sounds of pots and pans banging around down below. If Mom ’ s fixing breakfast maybe she wasn ’ t that upset after all, Sam thought.
He rustled out of bed and grabbed a pair of tan shorts and a blue t-shirt from the organized pile of clothes. He opened his door, turned back, and grabbed the largest pile of laundry he could carry. The robust smell of bacon quickly turned into the smell of something burning as he made his way downstairs. The bottom floor was one big cloud of smoke. Through the smoke Sam could see Sarah running around frantically, trying to open the kitchen windows.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked with a puzzled look as he held his large pile of clothes with both arms.
Sarah stopped in her tracks, awestruck by the sight of Sam attempting to do laundry.
“What are you doing?” she asked with a chuckle.
“I’m doing laundry, but I could help you burn the house down instead.”
“Funny. I was trying to cook you something,” she said through gritted teeth while trying to pry open the stuck kitchen window.
Sam placed the large pile of clothes on the floor in front of the washing machine. He walked over to the stove, turned it off, and moved the pan with the burnt bacon to another burner. Then, without missing a step, he went to the stuck window that Sarah had been working on and gave it a hard yank. The window flew open and Barron jumped inside.
“Out, Barron!” Sarah commanded.
Barron stood there staring at Sarah as if she were crazy, like most cats do when humans talk to them. Sam went back over to the stove and grabbed the pan with the charred bacon. He walked back to the window and threw it out. Barron followed, jumping back out the window to pounce on his crispy treat.
“Hey, that was ours!” Sarah said, looking out the window.
“Really? Were you going to eat that, ‘cause I wasn’t,” Sam replied in a matter-of-fact way.
“See if I ever make you breakfast again!”
“Yeah, what’s with that? Where’s Mom?” Sam asked, heading back over to the large pile of clothes.
“This was her Saturday to work. She took another double at the diner, I guess.”
Sam felt worse now; he had really wanted to tell her he was sorry first thing this morning.
“She looked like she was kind of worried or upset maybe. Did you guys fight?”
Of course Sarah would naturally blame Sam for Mom’s mood, even if it was true.
“Um, no. Why does it always have to be my fault?” he snapped back.
“I didn’t say it was your fault, big hair! I was simply asking! Wow, grouchy much? By the way, when did you start doing laundry? Do I need to call CNN?”
Sam didn’t say a word as he angrily shoved his clothes into the washer. He kept telling himself to calm down and not to say a word.
“By the way, that
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