boole siblings let's gooooooo

Camp Safety Rules

Sam set the plate in front of Dogen, exclaiming, "Bon appetit!"

Dogen smiled at the pancakes Sam had cooked. Three fluffy pancakes perfectly fit his plate. Maple syrup coated the top pancake and dribbled down the sides, hints of melted butter flowing as well.

"Thanks," he chirped, taking his fork and knife off a napkin. He slowly cut through them, not wanting to make a mess like he had done last time. When he speared a perfectly triangular piece with his fork, he bit down. He hummed, closing his eyes and relishing the taste. A fruity hint of blueberries delighted his taste buds, and as he chewed, the pancake practically melted in his mouth.

"It's good," he said, wolfing down another piece.

Sam chuckled and sat across from him at the dining table. Mom had been making breakfast when a phone call distracted her, and Sam elected to finish the batch for her. If Dogen had to be honest, he preferred Sam's pancakes. She usually added toppings that sweetened them, almost like having a cake for breakfast.

Dogen ate in silence while Sam fiddled with her Thinkerprint Reader. He watched her jab her pointer finger at the round brain in the center, sighing. They caught eyes, and Sam explained that her friend hadn't updated it as she requested. He nodded and resumed eating, keeping his eyes on the syrup that trickled off the sides of his plate onto the white linen cloth.

When he finished, he placed his fork and knife on the plate, crossing them as he had seen in the fancy movies Grandpa liked. He carefully wiped his mouth with the napkin, removing any sticky residue. Mom told him cleaning his mouth after a meal was polite, and he tried adhering to it in the house despite immediately crumpling the napkin.

"Gisu, you promised," Sam whined, pressing her fingers to her left temple. She jabbed her Thinkerprint Reader on the table. She closed her eyes and tilted her head, grumbling under her breath.

"Uh, what's wrong?" Dogen asked, Sam lifting her ear to the ceiling.

She nodded to herself, then dropped her hands. "Oh, nothing, Dogen. I'm annoyed with my friend. She said she'd optimize my Thinkerprint Reader to access some hidden areas at HQ after Gramps backed out, but some stuff happened on her end," she said, shrugging and lifting her fork. She jabbed it into the top pancake and lifted it off the plate, chomping down on it. "Eh, no big deal," she said through her chewing. "We'll get it done when I get to the Motherlobe. Hopefully, Hollis won't catch us."

Dogen nodded. "M'kay."

As his sister ate and fidgeted with her peculiar device, Dogen kicked his legs underneath the table. He surveyed their dining room, noting it felt sparser than usual. Mom was still on the phone, her shadow stretching in from the hallway. Dad was busy with work, usually leaving before either sibling woke up. And Grandpa was a mystery. Sometimes, he ate with them, and other times, he sequestered himself at the Motherlobe for several days. Dogen sometimes wondered if Grandpa had died after a few days passed.

He didn't mind. Sam talked up a storm to fill the void of silence. He wondered if she liked hearing herself talk. When she started prattling on about how her friend accidentally hit someone in the face with his yo-yo, Dogen couldn't help but smile.

"And boy, was she mad. He broke the lens, but it wasn't his fault. Norma just happened to teleport in when Adam tossed the yo-yo out. It was really bad timing," she said, watching the knife move from side to side as it cut through her second pancake. "Still, she chewed him out like a bad piece of bubblegum. Lizzie had to mediate between them for, like, I dunno, twenty minutes."

"Wow. Is she okay?" Dogen asked, continuing to kick his legs.

Sam waved her hand and munched on her next pancake. "Yeah, she's fine. She tried to weasel her way into getting Mr. Zanotto as her mentor from Adam as a way of him paying her back, but he wouldn't budge." She swallowed and snickered. "Not like I blame him. Mr. Zanotto's cool." Sam rested her elbows on the table and stared at him. She leaned more on her right hand, pushing her cheek up to make her eye squint. "Y'know, Dogen, speaking of Mr. Zanotto, are you ready for summer camp?"

Dogen pursed his lips. It was going to be his first time away from home without his usual comforts. He'd have responsibilities placed on his shoulders that didn't seem real. He remembered the rules his parents had ingrained in his skull through consistent memorization, but the thought of having an incident at camp churned his stomach.

The pancakes suddenly didn't sit well. He snatched a small plastic cup of orange juice and gulped it down, not even tasting it. He crushed the cup in his hand, wincing, and he tried smoothing out the cup's wrinkles, a dull ache forming in the back of his head.

Sam straightened. Her brow creased, her apprehension palpable. "Aw, wait, Dogen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring you down. I thought you were excited about camp."

"'Kay," Dogen muttered, lowering his head.

He heard her chair scraping on the tiles. Sam's chunky boots stomped as she approached him. She placed her chair next to him and sat down, resting her hand on his back. "Come on. You can tell me what's wrong," she offered, her grin toothy. "Mom and Dad said they were gonna get you a pet if everything goes well, right?"

He brightened, his smile automatic. Mom and Dad had made that promise with him after a lengthy discussion about Whispering Rock. After they had gone through memorizing his new set of rules specifically for camp, Mom had taken his hands and squeezed them, asking if he wanted a pet if everyone's heads remained on their shoulders. Dogen had been so excited he could hardly speak and hugged Mom as tightly as he could until she whimpered that her head burned.

"And-and I can give it a special hat. That way, its head won't explode," he said, meeting Sam's gaze.

"We can cut out holes for the ears," she replied, tapping her middle and pointer fingers together like a pair of scissors.

Dogen giggled and cupped his cheeks. He imagined a small tabby cat curled up on the striped rug in his bedroom. A shiny aluminum hat crowned its head with its soft, orange ears flicking in all kinds of directions while it slept.

"Um, it'd be easier to cut the ears for a kitten," he said, "but I don't know what I want yet."

Sam removed her hand from his back and nodded. "That's okay. You have so many weeks to decide." She lifted his plate and utensils, aiming them at the sink in the adjacent kitchen. They clattered on the unwashed skillet that she had used, their racket echoing with a metallic twang.

Dogen tugged on Sam's shirt when she turned for the kitchen. She hummed, looking back down at him. He fidgeted with the zipper on his onesie. He rubbed his ankles together, mumbling and causing Sam to lean closer into him.

"Um, Sam, is Whispering Rock really safe?" he asked, peering at her through the corner of his eye.

Without missing a beat, Sam grinned. "It sure is. Just stay on the trails, go to class on time, and watch out for Coach Oleander's farts," she replied, and Dogen burst into a giggling fit, covering his mouth. She laughed as well, tossing her head back. "I know someone who made that mistake, and they smelled like a skunk for days!"

"Oh, no," Dogen murmured through his fingers, his cheeks taking on a rosy hue. He bounced in his seat, stifling his laughter as Sam quieted, heaving out a sigh.

"Yep. Everything will be fine, Dogen," she said, reaching for his head. She paused, realization crossing her expression, before quickly patting his shoulder instead. "Follow those three steps, and Whispering Rock will be a lot of fun."

"And there will be people who wear special hats like mine?"

"Loads of 'em!"

"M'kay." Dogen hopped out of his seat. "Thanks, Sam."

"Sure thing, small fry," she said, heading over to the kitchen with her dirty dish. She dumped it in the sink and grabbed a bottle of detergent. As she squeezed an excessive amount of dark blue detergent on the utensils and plates, she levitated her Thinkerprint Reader into her hand and continued fidgeting with it.

Dogen shuffled over to the hallway, Mom's form just in his line of sight. He looked over his shoulder as best as he could to Sam. She turned on the faucet and scrubbed the plates clean with a sponge, uttering odd, rhythmic noises that sounded almost like a melody.

Mom hung up the phone. She pivoted to face Dogen, casting him a warm smile that made him want to hug her. "That was Mr. Zanotto. He called to confirm that he'll drive you and Lili to camp later this week. Doesn't that sound fun?"

Dogen nodded. "Sam says I need to watch out for Coach Oleander's farts."

"His-?" Mom looked at Sam, who winced and dropped a spoon in the sink. "Oh, Sam, that's crass. Dogen doesn't need to hear that."

Sam immediately turned around, her mouth wide open to defend herself. But she paused, tilted her head, and shrugged. "Well, I'm right," she stated, and again, Dogen giggled behind his fingers.