Before Cheryl Brooks was Mrs Brooks, she was a wild girl known as Cherry. This wouldn’t be relevant to the nurse that entered the kitchen, carrying a plastic bag that smelled invitingly of breakfast burritos, were it not for the fact that it explained some of the less professional parts of her appearance.

Her hair was too big for the white cap most nurses at Saint Servatius still wore, seeming more at home in a music video than a hospital. Instead of white scrubs, she had opted for ones with a wild pattern of rainbow hearts and flowers on blue, which at the moment was half obscured under a cut off denim vest

that hung loosely over her clothes.

“Good morning, Cherry Pie,” Mister Brooks greeted his wife, putting his coffee down to make space in his lap, “How was work?”

“Morning, Mikey Mike,” she replied, dropping the white plastic bag, decorated with a picture of a Mexican so stereotypical that I’ll just skip over the whole thing, and then let herself fall into her husband’s lap.

Zach, who was in no mood for his parents lovey-dovey shenanigans, dropped his face into his cereal again.

“Oh,”Mrs Brooks said, sliding out of her husband’s lap and taking her usual seat, one to the left of him at the round table.

“He’s up early…” she observed, shared a final look with Michael and then switched on ‘mom-mode’ for her son.

“Rough morning, honey?”

Zach responded by groaning into his cereal. A lone pink marshmallow used the displaced air to make a bid for freedom, ending on the table. Zach opened his eyes, looked at the pink sugar and felt the smiling vaguely-unicorn shaped sugar was mocking him. He didn’t reply to his mother.

“Dawn left earlier,” Mister brooks whispered, just a little too loud.

“That makes all six of his little gang?”

“Except me,” Zach muttered, keeping his face in the bowl. He chewed on the sweet cereal that had entered his mouth before finishing his complaint, “I’m stuck in this one horse town ‘til I go to college.”

“Might want to improve your grades for that,” Mister Brooks muttered. He received a venomous look from his wife and, deciding that dad-time was over and this was better left to mom, he returned to scouring the papers.

“Thanks dad…”

“Hey, Zachy… You know, you could still have a fun summer if…”

“If?”

“If you had a car. Does wonders with the girls. Michael, give him some money.”

“Isn’t he getting Sawyer’s car?”

“As if! He’s not getting the DeLorean,” a newcomer said from the doorway, “Oh, rad! Burritos!”

“It’s a Bricklin, Mcfly,” Zach threw back, pulling his head out of the princess themed cereal. Several flakes fell from his face, but as many stuck.

Sawyer was Zach’s older brother, who fashioned himself the next Evel Knievel, though, he had said, with the charm of Burt Reynolds. To achieve the latter, he had attempted to grow a mustache. Both of his siblings had told him that he looked like he wasn’t allowed within a thousand feet of a school zone.

The eldest Brooks child had decided the mocking came from envy… from both.

“Speaking of taking my shit,” Sawyer said, ignoring the common reprimand of ‘language’ and firmly locking his eyes on Zach until he noticed the pink glittery cereal sticking to his face.

“Guess it couldn’t have been you.”

“Why?”

“You’re eating Tara’s cereal.”

“So?”

“Grats on your coming out, little bro. Watch out for aids.”

“Not just gays get aids,” Mrs Brooks interjected, “And your brother isn’t gay just cause he eats pink cereal. And even if he was gay, I’d love him all the same. Sawyer, go put on a shirt.”

“And deprive the ladies of this?” Sawyer said, flexing his muscles which he pumped iron for daily and were just as impressive as his mustache.

Nobody replied to the empty boast.

Mister Brooks coughed, circled another and finally broke the silence proper, “What were we talking about?”

“You were about to give Zach money for a car,” Mrs brooks said, getting up to set the table for breakfast.

“Not gonna find a sweet DeLorean like mine,” Sawyer stated matter-of-factly.

“I wouldn’t want a second General Pee,” Zach sighed, mocking the orange sports car his brother drove.

“Jealous,” Sawyer yawned, “But, Zach… Can I talk to you?”

“You’re talking to me right now.”

“In private.”

“Don’t see how this day could get any worse, so sure.”

“Play nice, boys,” Mrs Brooks said, dropping the bottom most from her pile of plates as emphasis to her warning.

“Sure, mom,” they said in unison, then headed into the hallway together.

The two brothers retreated to the landing in the middle of the stairs to the second floor, which was the best place in the house to have a quiet conversation. Sawyer had, as he had done many times before, trapped Zach in the corner.

“Okay, Ballsack, tell me where it is… or I’ll beat it out of you.”

Zach pulled the finale piece of cereal that stuck to his cheek free and put it in his mouth before answering, “Where what is?”

“You know what.”

Zach sighed and tried to push Sawyer aside, “I haven’t the foggiest. What?”

“You took my mag.”

“...You don’t get any magazines. Idiot Monthly stopped publishing when all the articles were about you.”

Sawyer, whose muscles weren’t impressive, but had a lot of sinewy strength, pushed his brother against the bricks behind him, “Gonna get worse if you don’t fess up.”

“Look, throw me down the stairs if you what,” Zach sighed, “but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, you took my porn mag.”

“I don’t have your stupid jack rag,” Zach said, rolling his eyes and again attempting to push past his brother.

Sawyer placed his left hand on Zach’s right shoulder and pushed him against the wall again, locking him in place this time. His other hand formed a fist as he pulled it back.

“Three,” he started the countdown.

Zach rolled his eyes once more.

“Two…”

Zach’s hand went further back.

“One…”

Before Sawyer could reach zero, Zach grabbed Sawyer’s nipple and rotated it.

“Motherf…” Sawyer gasped, trying to hide that his little brother had managed to hurt him. Zach took this brief respite to duck under Sawyer’s hand and sprint up the stairs to the upper floor.

Sawyer followed a second later, but Zach had already reached the top, grabbed the corner of the wall and launched himself the one hundred eighty degrees to the upstairs hallway. He already had his bedroom door in sight, which, as like all of the bedrooms, was considered save haven. He hopped over a roller skate, which for some reason had a toy horse tied to the front of it and landed on an abandoned tennis ball. He tripped backwards, landing on the thick carpet that broke his fall. Sawyer was on him a moment later and would’ve started the beating, had the door to the right of them not opened. They wee joined by their little sister, Tara.

“What are you two doing?” she yawned, stretching as she did and almost dropping the book she was holding.

Tara was the odd one out of the Brooks siblings. Not just by being the only girl, but by taking more after their mother than the other two. Even though Zach and Sawyer both had her green eyes, they took after their father in build and both had the reddish blonde hair the man had once had. Tara meanwhile had her mother’s full black hair, short build (though she was still hoping for a growth spurt) and only took after her father with her piercing blue eyes.

At the moment she had the aforementioned hair neatly tied in two braids, leaving only her bangs to spill messily over her face, just far enough to cover her eyes. She was still in her sleepwear, a white gown with a cheerful pattern of primarily colored blocks, which only added to make her look more like a petulant child than the fury she was trying to be.

“I don’t really care,” she said testily when her question wasn’t answered, “I’m trying to read, so could you keep it down?”

“When he gives me…” Sawyer started, unsure if he should divulge the object of his ire to the twelve year old girl.

He was saved by his mother

“Kids!” she yelled from somewhere on the lower floor, “Come down for breakfast!”

“Coming, mom!” three voices responded immediately.

“Look, ballsack,” sawyer said as he turned to his own room, which was on the other side of the hallway, “If the magazine is in my room by tonight, I won’t beat you black and blue.”

Zach shrugged his shoulder and headed downstairs, “I don’t have your stupid magazine.”

Neither of the brothers paid any attention to Tara hastily closing her bedroom door.

Mrs Brooks was still fussing around the kitchen, cutting some vegetables for whatever she had in store for dinner, meanwhile drinking a glass of red wine and singing along to the radio. Even though nobody quite liked her singing, they left her to it. Wine and loud pop tunes generally meant she had a good night at work. Beer and classical music were a sign to clear the kitchen and leave her to her thoughts.

She let herself go on the final note of A-Ha's take on me, then caught her breath and turned her attention back to her family.

“What’s the plans for today, kids?” she asked, turning the radio down when the news took over. At the moment she was chopping carrots, making sure to stop to ask her questions.

Sawyer was the first to answer.

“Off to see Sophie,” he said, giving the single Zach a smug grin, “We’re going swimming.”

“Swimming,” Zach and Tara echoed in chorus.

“Still with that Goulding girl?” Mrs Brooks replied, ignoring the younger children’s amusement,

“That’s nice. If you’re going swimming, make sure to bring a lifesaver.”

Sawyer opened his mouth to protest that he wasn’t a kid and was perfectly capable of swimming, when he suddenly added two and two, simply shutting up.

“You, Tara?” Mrs Brooks asked, when there wasn’t more coming.

“Probably just going to read this book,” she shrugged, tapping the dog-eared novel in front of her.

“Any good?” Zach wanted to know through a mouthful of burrito.

“I like it,” was Tara’s non-committal answer.

The brooks children had gotten dressed, which for Sawyer meant putting on a shirt that might once have been black but was as faded as the rags he used to religiously clean his car. Tara had taken slightly more care in her appearance, though Zach couldn’t say he was wowed by her choice. With the eye on the oncoming heat, she had opted for blue dolphin shirts, but for reasons that had something to do with the battered copy of Ivanhoe in front of her, she insisted on wearing a woolen gray sweater she had cut the sleeves off. To finish the look, she had unbraided her hair and would, after breakfast, spend an hour or so in a vain attempt to get volume and curls into it, so she could look like the warrior women on the covers of the fantasy novels she adored.

Zach would’ve made fun of his siblings looks, but he was sort of jealous of both. They had clear ideas who they wanted to be. Sawyer thought himself a suave stuntman and Tara was the heroine of a trashy fantasy novel.

Zach meanwhile was just… Zach. Stuck both physically and mentally in the here and now.

He had had some image of becoming part of the next A-team, thought more as an actor than an actual veteran mercenary. Many kids wanted to be actors though and he felt it didn’t give him much personality, no more than kids who wanted to be fireman or fighter pilots in elementary….

“Zach?” Mrs Brooks said, gently pulling him back to reality, “What’s your plans for today?”

“Guess I’m going to walk to the junkyard,” he replied, picking at his food, “No idea what else I’d do.”

“Good,” mister Brooks said, opening up the only one of his six papers he liked to read for the news,

“It’s better than being on that game the whole day.”

“That’s Tara,” Zach protested, “With that Legend of Celery game.”

“Zelda,” Tara huffed.

“Go with your brother,” Mister Brooks said without looking up from the paper, “Fresh air’ll do you good.”

“Doth mine liege lord desire me to venture forth on a quest?”

There was a moment of silence as the rest of the family stared at the girl, which was finally broken by Mister Brooks.

“Definitely need fresh air, Princess,” he said, “Now that I have your attention though…”

“Yes?”

“What do you want for your birth…”

“A horse!” Tara said excitedly, not waiting for her father to finish the question.

“A pony?”

“No, a destroyer!”

“A destroyer horse...?”

“A destrier,” Zach corrected, “It’s a kind of horse in her books.”

“Don’t take my books without permission.”

Sawyer shot Zach a knowing look.

“Don’t leave them lying around,” Zach replied, returning Sawyer’s glance.

“Well,” Mister brooks stopped their children’s quarrel before it could properly begin, “If my princess wants a horse, she gets a horse. Zach?”

“...I’m not being her horse.”

“No, son. Ask Kevin if his dad heard anything about people selling horses. He tends to know.”

“You two want a ride?” Sawyer asked, excusing himself from the table.

The younger siblings shared a look, then responded together, “No, thanks.”

Sawyer shrugged, as if they had lost a great offer instead of a trip on a dangerous carnival ride. He tossed his bowl into the sink and headed out.

“Thanks for the dishes, honey!” Mrs Brooks called after him.

“Put on some proper shoes,” Zach warned his sister, “I’m not carrying you if you get a blister.”

Tara stuck out her tongue and continued to read while absent minded putting her breakfast in her mouth.

“Looks like we’re not leaving any time soon,” Zach said to his parents.