Free A & L Do Summer by Jan Blazanin Page A

“she’s in the kitchen putting together a cheese omelet especially for you. So get your butt downstairs before it gets cold, or she’ll see what a selfish, ungrateful brat you really are.”
    While Manny’s—hopefully—writhing with guilt, I dash to the kitchen, switch on a burner, and dump in the eggs I’ve scrambled to a perfect froth. The preparation of this omelet must be carefully timed. As long as Manny does his usual ten-minute bathroom search for new whiskers and Mom stays outdoors ordering Dad around, I’m golden.
    Speaking of golden, the smell of frying eggs is making my stomach growl. Too bad there were only three eggs left after Mom and I made a mountain of deviled eggs for the party.
    I carefully lift the edges of the omelet with a spatula and let the raw egg run underneath. When it’s thick and puffy, I expertly flip it over to let the other side brown. Now comes the tricky part. From a bowl I’ve set aside, I pour in my secret ingredients: a quarter cup of crushed Tums lovingly blended into a half cup of a Pepto Bismol/ Tabasco sauce mixture. If this doesn’t cure Manny’s hangover, nothing will.
    As I’m folding the omelet and pressing the edges together, the toilet flushes overhead. What timing! I lay three slices of cheddar cheese across the top and stand back to admire my masterpiece. Then I pull out my cell phone and snap a picture. I leave the phone in easy reach for more pictures to come.
    I’ve just removed the pan from the burner when Manny walks in. His hair and face are wet, but he still looks like the mummy unwrapped. By the way his mouth is puckered, I can see he’s one gag reflex away from puking.
    â€œGod, Manny! What outhouse did you fall into last night? You look like a pile of crap!”
    Manny pulls out a chair and falls into it. “Not so loud,” he groans. “My head hurts from the waist up.” He leans over the table and massages his eyes with the heels of his hands.
    I set a glass of grapefruit juice in front of him. “Wait till I tell Mom and Dad that Mr. Mattheson throws drinking parties for the senior class. Mom’s head will do a complete three-sixty.”
    â€œDon’t even joke about it. I spent ten minutes at Mr. Matt’s house last night, and it felt like a decade.” Manny takes a sip of juice and cringes. “I need to eat something solid before my stomach comes out through my nose.”
    There’s my cue. I slide the omelet from the pan onto his plate. Even though I know what’s inside, it looks so delicious that my mouth waters.
    â€œSo what was that story you told Mom about ‘feeling obligated’ to attend the senior party?” I indulge my rising anger and grip the handle of the skillet more firmly. I can’t bash in Manny’s head, but fantasizing about it makes me feel better.
    â€œMan, that smells great,” Manny says. “Where’s Mom, anyway?”
    â€œDad’s setting up the ‘in case of rain’ tent. She’s supervising.” Anticipation is making my palms sweat.
    â€œPoor Dad.” Manny pokes the edge of the omelet with his fork.
    Eat it already!
    â€œYeah. She’s had both of us working like dogs. So where were you last night?”
    â€œA party at some farmhouse. At least half the senior class was there.” He cuts off a small piece, forks it into his mouth, and chews. “This tastes great! Just what the doctor ordered.”
    You don’t know the half of it.
    â€œSo how come you’re not eating?” he asks.
    â€œMom, Dad, and I ate together hours ago,” I lie. “Mom wanted to let you sleep so you’d be rested for your party.”
    â€œShe’s the best.” Manny takes another bite. He has this weird habit of eating all the edges before he cuts into the center. All the more for him to hurl. “I need to do something nice for her, maybe a belated Mother’s Day