Francesca's Kitchen by Peter Pezzelli Page A

up.”
    Loretta set her feet on the floor and rolled her neck and shoulders for a minute to shake out the cobwebs. Despite the urge to crawl back under the covers, she stood and shuffled out into the hallway. As she passed the bathroom, she rapped her knuckles against the door.
    â€œDon’t be all day in there, Miss America,” she warned her daughter. “Get a move on. Somebody else might need to get ready, you know.” Then she trudged downstairs to the kitchen to make herself a cup of instant coffee. Loretta preferred fresh-brewed, especially in the morning, but there was no time to make it, and in any case, the coffeemaker was broken as well.
    Will was already sitting on the end of the living room couch, playing a video game on the television, when Loretta came downstairs. Beside him, on the end table, rested a paper plate holding several saltine crackers. Next to it, a butter knife rose from an open jar of peanut butter. His eyes glued to the television, Will munched away on the peanut butter crackers he had made, oblivious to the crumbs falling onto the couch and rug while he manipulated the game controller. It wasn’t the breakfast of champions, thought Loretta, but she supposed that her son could eat worse in the morning. It would have to do. Just the same, she couldn’t suppress her exasperation at the mess he was making.
    â€œWatch what you’re doing!” she cried. “You’re getting crumbs everywhere! Why is it that no matter how hard I try to keep this place clean, it still ends up a mess?”
    â€œCleansing breath, Mom,” said Will placidly, without looking away from the video game. “You’re starting to get worked up again.”
    â€œDon’t give me that,” she snapped in reply. “Turn that thing off and finish eating your breakfast at the table. And get your backpack ready for school. Who said you could sit around wasting time playing those games when we’re all going to be late? And have you even looked at that science project you had me working on for you till all hours last night?” She followed that up by screaming upstairs, “Penelope Simmons, get yourself down here. Now! ”
    Penny descended the stairs a few minutes later. She was a pretty girl with blue eyes and dark, straight hair like her mother’s. However, her choice of attire that morning—a flimsy blouse and a skirt much too short for a sixth grader—elicited sharp criticism from her mother. The daily dress review before school had become something of an ordeal ever since she had turned eleven.
    â€œAbsolutely not!” cried Loretta. “Where did you even get that outfit?”
    â€œMy friend Jenna let me borrow it. We’re the same size.”
    â€œI don’t care. Give it back, because you’re not wearing it to school.”
    â€œBut why not?”
    â€œWell, for starters, you’re too young to dress like that, young lady.”
    â€œBut this is the way all the girls are dressing today,” Penny insisted.
    â€œI don’t care. And besides, it’s the middle of winter. At least put a sweater on. You look ridiculous.”
    â€œTell me about it,” chimed in Will, always willing to add fuel to the fire.
    â€œShut up, game boy,” sneered his sister. “Try minding your own business.”
    â€œWhatever.”
    As it usually did on a school day morning, the decibel level continued to increase as the time to depart for school drew nearer. By the time Loretta managed to get herself dressed, collect her own things for work, and bustle with them out the door, she was in full throat, leading the chorus of bickering and mutual recrimination. She glanced inside just once and gave a dismayed sigh at the untidy state of things in the living room and kitchen. There was nothing to be done about it now, so she slammed the door shut and hurried them all off to the car. With barely a look in the rearview mirror,