Page 34 of Silent Damage

“Oh, you think you’re a smartshit, huh? Well, watch this.”

I stomp into the kitchen and grab the milk and cereal. “Looks like you finished all of yours. Here!”

I grab a handful of cereal from the box and throw it at him before drenching him with milk.

Gabe literally steps onto the table and battles me for the milk.

“No! Mine,” I bark in the tussle.

He manages to rip it from my hand and shakes it over me.

Milk goes everywhere: on the walls, the ceiling, the seats, everywhere.

Including me. I’m covered.

“That does it!”

I grab a fistful of cereal and rub it in his face, but then he grabs my hair, pulls me down to the table, and starts using it to wipe down the table.

“Get off me,” I scream.

I twist his wrist to free myself and start chucking soggy cereal at him.

Soon, we’re both flinging gloopy cereal at each other—a full-on food fight.

I slap him with a handful of the mash right in the face, but then he chucks a fistful, sending it sailing and smacking me in my neck with a squish.

Squish.

Squash.

Plop.

That’s all I can hear through our grunting.

It’s World War III and the weapon of choice is store-brand Wheaties.

Right when I’m about to hold him down and dump cereal in his mouth, the screech of the front door grabs our attention, and Linda walks in. “Boys, I just wanted—OH MY GOD! What the hell happened?”

I look at Gabe.

He looks at me.

My eyes trail to the floor, covered in cereal and milk.

Gabe’s wet.

I’m wet.

We look like deer in headlights.

“Um…I spilled my cereal,” I explain.

And as soon as the words leave my mouth, milk drips from the ceiling, landing on the floor right in front of me.

“You spilled your cereal?” Linda’s voice is deafening in the tiny trailer.

“Yeah...”