Kitchen Chaos by Deborah A. Levine Read Free Book Online

I’mon my way to help my mom up when I feel the vibrations of slow, heavy footsteps on the stairs. Everyone else must have felt them too, because we all freeze, and suddenly, everyone is silent, even Rocco, who looks from one of us to the other wondering what’s up.
    Who’s up is the real question, and the answer is my dad. He’s an easygoing, fun-loving guy most of the time, but when he’s woken up early after a night on duty, watch out. At six foot two and two hundred pounds, Dad’s a big guy. He spends his days saving people’s lives and would never hurt a fly, but he can be seriously scary when he’s mad.
    We all stare silently as my dad enters my room, looking like Bigfoot after a rough night in the forest. It’s gotten really crowded in here with all of us squeezed into this microscopic space, and with Dad’s arrival, the atmosphere becomes tense. His large hazel eyes are usually welcoming, but right now they’re all bloodshot and puffy. He glares at each of us with a look that says, This had better be good, until his gaze lands on Mom on the floor, still stuck under Nicky, who, for some reason known only to his bizarre seven-year-old brain, has not budged from on top of her.
    Then something completely weird and unexpected happens: Like one of The Goons, my dad bursts into hysterics, barely able to control himself long enough to help my mom off the floor. Of course, Nicky, Leo, and Joey join in too, and Rocco starts his crazy barking again. Everyone is laughing (and barking) like total nerds, except for Mom and me.
    My mom straightens the giant T-shirt that’s her version of a nightgown and smoothes her hair as she stands up. She still has major bed head, but this definitely isn’t the time to mention it.
    â€œSo,” she says, and the boys and Dad all try to control their laughter, “if you are all quite finished . . . do you still want waffles, Nicky? Who else wants breakfast?” She looks at us expectantly as we all exchange looks that say, Oh no!
    Dad puts his arm around Mom’s shoulders and gives them a squeeze. “I’ll take care of breakfast, honey,” he says. “Why don’t you go and take a nice, long shower?”
    â€œCome on,” my mom says, shrugging off his arm. “I can make breakfast. Right, guys?”
    I manage to hold in a giggle, but The Goons just crack up again.
    â€œMa,” Leo croaks—he’s fifteen, so his voice is changing, and everything he says sounds like it’s coming from the bullfrog pond at the children’s zoo—“leave it to Dad. You dumped the spaghetti all over your foot last night when you were trying to drain it, remember? We had to keep it in a tub of ice water all night and eat frozen pizza. There wasn’t even enough for all of us, and I think I ate a whole box of cereal, too.”
    Who is he kidding? He always eats whole boxes of cereal.
    My dad looks alarmed. “Hon, your foot? I knew I should have heated up something for you guys before Iheaded out to my shift.” Mom rolls her eyes and waves him away impatiently.
    â€œNo way Mom’s cooking!” Nicky yells. “You burn everything!”
    â€œOr undercook it,” adds Joey. “Remember that French toast she made on your birthday, Nicky? You stuck your fork in and the eggs oozed out all over your plate. Like alien guts!” Joey runs his hands all over Nicky’s face like slimy egg yolks, which makes the little squirt scream. Again. I want them out of my room. Like, now.
    â€œHer oatmeal’s not bad,” Leo squawks. “You know, if you like your oatmeal cold and crunchy.”
    Mom puts her hand on her hip. “Ha-ha. Very funny,” she says. “You know that only happened once.”
    We all look at her like she’s nuts.
    â€œOkay, maybe twice. But I’m much better at it now and you know it.”
    I try to think of something