Boys

Puck stretched out on my bed that morning, wrapping up some straggling homework assignments, including amending a few incorrect answers on a recent American History test. I happened to glance at it as I walked by.

“Puck for – ‘What battle is often called the turning point of the Revolutionary War?’ – you put down – ‘World War One?’”

He just grinned.

About eleven hours later, I was walking through the lake that was the bathroom floor after Yali found a way to flood the sink while I was busy making fish tacos and guacamole in the kitchen. More soggy ceiling plaster in the basement.

“WET!” Yali screeched, pulling at the soggy collar of his t-shirt. “WET!”