Shouting rumbled through the walls below, and the boy lazily stuck a bookmark into his comic book and tossed it on his bed. The shouting grew louder, and rushed footsteps ascended the stairs. One breath, two breaths. The boy’s bedroom door slammed open.
His mother’s professional work bun had turned into a messy one, and her eyes were narrow as she glared at him. Already her face was red, and she opened her mouth to continue her rant.
“Samuel, if you think. . . pizza for dinner sound okay tonight?” Her eyes widened, her considerate tone a harsh contrast to the anger contorting her expression. Her manicured fingers dug into her palms, and she tried again. “We can have a movie and ice cream after?”
The boy carefully maintained his excited expression despite his concentration on his will over his mother. “Really? That sounds awesome, Mom!”
Sweat glistened on her temple, and she inhaled deeply, as if preparing to resume her shouting. But only calm came out.
“Come on down, honey,” she said sweetly, despite the lightning dancing in her gaze. “We’ll even let you pick the movie.”
Her shoulders vibrated, rage consuming her, just as the boy’s father finished following her up the stairs. A stern glance into the room, and he signed, shoulders drooping.
“Want me to talk with him?”
She nodded curtly and stomped out of the room, leaving behind the boy and his father.
“Son . . . what did I tell you about not using your powers on your mother?”
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