Drool webbing drapes across his slack jaw as he yawns and his Frankenstein alarm clock wakes him by spinning a Slipknot CD.
His "bed" is a dingy-sized couch, overstuffed and longer than most.
The door to his room bumps, and then it gaps... Freckles attacks!
A citrus-colored Australian shepherd streaks straight to his face as if she's come just to collect his drool. He howls and sputters, violently awake now, his hands wipe his tongue like windmills trying to undo the dog kiss. He retreats into a defensive armadillo position allowing all the fuses of his consciousness to light up. He's awake. He stretches and releases a growl, a screech, and a forceful exhale. He launches himself from the couch using some kind of horizontal pirouette.
The reflection in his vanity mirror confronts him with some truly obnoxious bedhead. somehow his hair has become two blonde horns. Spires projecting from his temples. He checks the hair for product. Nope. Demon horns sprouted of their own accord. Odd.
Nick pads the hair down flat and finds his father in the kitchen. Terry is scuttling, mid-morning, fashion; cigarette and coffee alternately hitting his teeth. Terry shuffles around, never allowing himself to rest. Nick pours himself some frosted Wheaties with soymilk.
Breaking character, Terry sits down and clears his throat.
"What's going on?" Nick asks.
Terry explains that the family needs him to come back to the ranch up north. He has already informed his boss. He'll be leaving in a couple of weeks.
"Will you need any help?" Terry asks.
"I'll figure something out," Nick assures him.
"Your mo-?"
"Definitely not" Nick cuts him short.
YOU ARE READING
Sonder
Teen FictionComing of age at the beginning of the 21st century. War, technology, and pop culture collide to shape this motley crew of high schoolers on the verge of graduation.
