I sat on
the cloud, perusing the menus of a couple of restaurants. I wanted breakfast,
and it was hard finding a place that still served breakfast at one in the
afternoon in Nebraska. Apparently, they thought it was breaking a law of nature.
Surprisingly, the data connection
zipped right along, despite Anna-Marie and Jack trying to zap Natalie. Jack and
Anna-Marie had come from Europe for the day to hang out since the weather there
was pretty calm, and the Pyros had managed not to blow up Iceland this week.
Nat zigged and zagged on her cloud
board, but the field of positive ions did more to keep the lightning from her
than anything. That was a new trick she had figured out, and she naturally
wanted to push the limits.
Jack naturally wanted to shoot her
with a lightning bolt.
Anna-Marie, instead of being the
usual voice of reason, decided it would also be fun.
I, acting as the adult, firmly
turned my back on the whole affair and wanted a stack of pancakes, preferably
with chocolate chips and whip cream to make a face. I moved on to another
website, and found proudly across the top of their page “Breakfast served all
day!” I scrolled through the menu, feeling my stomach growl at the picture of
French toast slathered in maple syrup. I was just scrolling past the breakfast
sandwiches, when I did a double-take.
I went back, and it wasn’t my
imagination. It was there both in picture and words.
“Jack!”
“Busy!”
“You’re going to want to see this.
All of you are going to want to see this.”
“Time out!” Jack called.
A particularly loud sizzle and yelp
from Jack. “I said time out! And you’re supposed to be on my team!”
“I slipped,” Anna-Marie said.
The three of them joined me, then
looked over my shoulder at my phone.
“No!” Jack yelled. “They can’t do
that! I invented that sandwich.”
“Do not remind me,” Anna-Marie
groaned. “Part of why we are here is so he can buy more Pop Tarts.”
Jack stomped away, ranting at the
clouds, “I lovingly crafted it with my own two hands! Those fuckers owe me
money or something!”
Natalie read out the description. “‘Choice
of cherry, strawberry, chocolate fudge, s’more, and other flavor Pop Tarts.
Scrambled eggs cooked with choice of extras (cheese, ham, mushrooms, peppers),
and bacon (maple, apple-wood, hickory) assembled in the tastiest sandwich ever
to be made.’ I think I might be sick.”
“It’s like a train-wreck watching
him eat it,” I said. “You want to look away, but can’t.”
“I’m going to sue!” Jack was still
going. “Call my attorney and sue all your asses off, goddammit!”
“Do you think he’d notice if we
left, the western scramble sounds delightful,” Anna-Marie said.
The three of us looked at one
another, then slipped off the cloud as Jack continued to rant.