When Zach returned to the living room, he found Tara kneeling in front the VCR, waiting for the tape to rewind so she could put it back in the box.

“Did you leave any hot water?” Tara asked, her tone making it clear she already expected the answer.

Zach shrugged, took one of the chips from the bowl he was carrying and tried to flick it into his mouth with no success. It dropped to the couch, disappearing in the natural camouflage the odd brown, but still floral patterned, eight seater offered.

With Sawyer out working, Zach had one wing of the massive couch, which took up almost the entire living room, to himself. Had his older brother been watching there, Zach would’ve been banished to the furthest corner, closest to the TV, but the least comfortable spot to watch it from. He had regretted picking that as his spot for some time now. But with Sawyer gone, he could simply drop down and take up more space than he needed.

He put the bowl of chips down next to him and tried to flick another. It landed on his face.

His father tutted from his place of power, the dead center of the other wing. His mother however, who had the corner closest to the fireplace, just smiled, glad to see her son was done moping… For now.

Five minutes later had her realizing she had celebrated too soon. The movie started with a boy moving, which wasn’t that bad in itself, but the boy was moving to California.

Zach’s face turned very similar to the one she had seen at breakfast and she had thanked her stars that all she’d need to rescue her carpet from another face-in-bowl spillage was the dust buster.

Another five minutes later however, Zach’s expression had slowly turned to a vindictive smile. … California sucked.

The first fight of the movie was very one sided and Zach looked unimpressed.

“That’s it?” he said, “Karate’s lame…”

“He’s just bad at it,” Cheryl said, following both the movie and her son’s responses from behind her book, “He’s not going to be a master at the start of the movie.”

Zach shrugged and stuffed another hand of chips into his mouth.

“They play a lot of soccer in this movie,” Michael observed, “Why not an American sport, like football?”

“Probably a communist plot,” Cheryl replied, to the hilarity of the rest of the family, all as familiar with Mitchell’s petitions as anyone in town.

“That boy’s got an anger issue,” Michael continued when the boy started another fight, “Should do yoga instead of karate.”

Zach yawned and was about to suggest they stop watching this and see what’s on TV. Unfortunately for his parents, who were about as interested in it as he was, this was when Tara decided to talk.

“You picked a bad movie,” she said, a hint of triumph in her tone, “Should’ve gotten the Amazon one.”

“Shush,” Zach retorted, “I’m watching this, Tarantula.”

“Tarantulas are cool,” Tara threw back, scrunching her face before adding, “Unlike ballsacks.”

“Language,” Cheryl chided, though she shared an amused look with her husband and was glad she could hide her grin behind her book.

“No wonder he sucks at Karate,” Zach said, “Look, dad. He actually does yoga.”

A few more minutes of abject nothing passed, but then…

With the main character visiting the rival’s dojo, the appeal of the sport clicked for Zach. Even though he knew the viewer was supposed to dislike the violent discipline of this place, it spoke to him and he suddenly was entirely invested in the movie.

His interest waned for the next hour or so, until there was finally a proper, albeit short, fight and the stakes were laid out.

“All these kids should be doing Yoga,” Michael shrugged, “I’m going to take a leak.”

Another hour or so later, Zach was sitting straight up, watching the final scenes of the film. His bowl of chips had been forgotten and, much to Cheryl’s frustration, knocked onto her nice dark green carpet.

Open mouthed, Zach watched the main character take out his rival, then suddenly a cut to credits.

“Told you it wasn’t a bad movie,” he said to Tara, his turn to be triumphant. Tara didn’t hear it, she had long since fallen asleep against her father.

“Great, son,” Michael replied instead of his sister, “Now clean up that mess.”

“Right away,” Zach replied and retreated to the kitchen, making sure not to step on any of the chips he spilled on the floor.

His parents expected him to return with the dust buster, but instead he was armed with one of his father’s beloved barbecue skewers.

“Son…?”

“Rewind to the fly catching scene,” he said hurried as he dropped to his knees.

Confused, but curious, Michael did as requested, then watched his son imitate the clicking of the chopsticks with the skewer.

He flinched inwardly at the mistreatment of his barbecue equipment, but was too fascinated by his son’s action to tell him off.

Tara woke up when her father leaned forward to get a better view.

She yawned, then frowned at her brother.

“Flies move,” she said shortly.

“Gotta start somewhere,” Zach replied.

Tara freed herself from her father’s embrace, got to her feet, then turned to him with a grave face.

“I think your son needs counseling.”

Cheryl giggled, hiding her mouth behind her book. Michael just frowned and used the remote to switch to the news.

“It’s almost ten, Princess,” he said, “Go brush your teeth and I’ll see about your brother.”

Tara mouthed the word ‘lobotomy’ to her father, then left the room to do as told.

“Son,” Michael said, “If you’re still acting like a lunatic next week, I might take her up on that.”

Zach didn’t respond. He hadn’t heard any of the conversation as he was too busy with getting the chips back in the bowl. So far, he had managed two.

“Mom,” he said when another broke under the metal, “Can you get some chop sticks from the Chinese place?”

“...Sure, honey…” Cheryl said, putting her book down for the first time that evening. She looked at her husband, before adding, “But, I think you should get some sleep.”

“As son as I’m done, mom…”

“Your mom will get it, son. Bed.”

Zach, who had managed to get the third chip in, put the skewers down and followed his sister to the upper floor.

“Maybe we should send him to summer camp?” he heard his mother say and stopped at the bottom step to listen in on his parents’ conversation.

“Fresh air will do him some good,” Cheryl added as motivation.

“There’s plenty of fresh air here,” Michael retorted, “It’ll pass. Just like his Super-Zach phase.”

His parents laughed and Zach felt himself turn red. Super-Zach had been his alter ego when he had been ten. He had gotten over it when he tried to show off his amazing flying power and fell from the roof.

“So he’ll try to break a board and break his hand instead,” Michael assured her, “And then he’ll find something else to do.”

Zach sighed and continued up the stairs, resolving to become a black belt within the month, it was twice the time the kid in the movie had had after all. He’d definitely be able to break a board within that time though…

With that thought in mind, he set his alarm to six AM, and got into bed.