The boy woke with a start. Panic flooded his brain. He was late for school, and today was the biology test. He loved biology - plant life, flora and fauna stuff - and was excited to be tested on his knowledge. Most other tests he hated. Seventh grade core classes were boring. Not this one.
"Mom, I'm late!" He rushed out of his bedroom into the dining area, his brown mop of hair sticking out in all directions from the night's sleep. He danced, pulling on his jeans, first one leg, then the other. His mom was reading the paper at the island counter in the kitchen, a cup of fresh brewed coffee steaming beside her. She glanced up at her panicked son and smiled.
"Relax, Turbo," she said. "We have plenty of time. Today's no different than any other. We'll leave in twenty minutes."
"But Mom," the boy countered as he rushed through strapping on his belt then got down on one knee to tie on his Converse tennis shoes. "It's my biology test. First period! I can't be late. I've got to be in the right mindset."
"What do you want for breakfast, honey?" she said, changing the subject. She knew her son's quirky mood when it came to important tests. "I can make you a quick batch of oatmeal."
She put down the paper and watched him move from the refrigerator to the counter and hurriedly pour a glass of orange juice. Some of it missed the glass and spread across the counter.
"Easy, young man," she said, changing her tone. "Slow down. I'll fix you some breakfast. A power breakfast for that test." She paused and gave him time to settle across from her at the counter.
"Okay," he said. "I want oatmeal."
She quickly glanced at him as she rose from her seat.
"Please and thank you, Mom," the boy said.
"Acceptable." She went to the stove and put water on to boil. "Slow down and breathe. You'll do just fine on that test, mister. If I know you, which I do, you are well prepared and will set the scoring curve. Yes?"
"I don't know," he answered. "Mr. Stendel always throws in some trick questions."
"Yeah, but you love the challenge of that."
"Yeah. I guess you're right," the boy admitted.
"Of course I'm right. I'm your mother."
The boy smiled at the comment. Smiled at his mother. She was already putting the final touches on his breakfast. He loved her efficiency and ability to put together something so quickly. She brought the steaming bowl of oatmeal to the counter and slid it toward him. He caught the bowl, then jumped up and went to the fridge and retrieved the butter dish and some maple syrup.
While he ate, his mother went back to reading the paper. She was already dressed in her nursing scrubs, ready for work. The boy knew she was enjoying the quiet of their house, a sunny morning, and coffee before the craziness of work.