Family Time

Don’t get cheeky.

Hurrumph. The worst. The most annoying thing that ever was. Don’t get cheeky. Don’t give me that lip. Watch your mouth. There was nothing on this green earth Angela hated more – as if speaking her mind was an act of childish rebellion rather than truth; as if sticking up for herself was over-sensitivity rather than refusing to be a doormat; as if her mouth had been solely designed to have dumb vegetables and words stuffed in it. She clenched her teeth. Her fists balled. Her face flew into a shade of watermelon red and her eyes bugged out.

Cheeky? CHEEKY? Oh, I’ll show you cheeky!

She stood up so fast from the kitchen table that her chair fell over. Her milk sloshed in its plastic cup and her fork clattered to the floor. In a dramatic flair that she had learned from years of theater class, her finger she pointed across the tabletop, spearing itself into her older sister like a javelin.

“Cheeky!? I’ll show you CHEEKY!”

And before anybody could ever register what was happening, Wild Child had launched across the table, mom and dad and middle sister yelling, older sister the target reeling, and baby bro, squealing in a delight of excitement that rivaled a whole troop of monkeys. His hands he clapped.

“CHEEKY!” he cried with glee.

His first words.

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