I'm never late to work. Never. I'm the responsible member of my family.
"You're late," my brother Lennon says as I walk through the kitchen door. "Dad's pissed. He had to do your breakfast run instead of go fishing."
I have twelve siblings, but Lennon and I are the only ones still living with our parents. I'm number twelve in the family lineup, and he's lucky number thirteen. The others are spread out around the lake. Nobody has ventured far away. My parents may be loons, but they have a magnetic quality that's kept us close.
"He didn't make the renters his famous Eggspectacular. Did he?" I ask Lennon. "Please say he didn't."
"It was either that or his Velveeta fondue, which isn't exactly appropriate for breakfast."
Dad only knows how to cook two dishes. I shudder at the thought of my
