When I first saw what they wanted me to do, I figured easy-peasy. I’d seen girls using it at our local gym. Then Cassidy appeared with my weighted vest, and Joey set the machine to a thirty percent incline. In my head, thirty percent didn’t sound like much. It was the equivalent of running up a staircase. After the first few minutes, I figured out my head might be wrong on that.
Once they were done with their torture machines, Cassidy gathered everyone, and we did
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Chapter 2 – Are You Brain-Damaged? Wednesday January 18
“Morning, parental units,” I said as I strolled in and saw Cassidy sitting in my spot at the kitchen table again. That earned her a look. “Bad Girl.”
“I see you decided to move back to your apartment,” Mom said, taking a shot at my spending the night with Peggy on Monday.
“Not to change the topic, because this one looks to be so much fun, but I need your advice on something,” I said.
“Ask your questions while you cook breakfast,” Cassidy ordered.
Peggy sent me a text to tell me she wanted help bringing down the little ones.
“Right now, I have to help Peggy with the boys. I think if you’re going to eat here, you need to help cook,” I said to Miss Bossy Pants.
“I don’t know how,” Cassidy admitted.
“That’s okay, I’ll help you,” Dad said.
Cassidy’s expression said that she would rather not, but tough. I bounded up the stairs two at a time.
“No running in the house!” Mom yelled after me.
The boys perked up when I came into their bedroom.
“Ready for some fun?” I asked, clapping my hands.
Duke was suddenly up and bouncing around. Both Little David and Coby gave me the universal sign to pick them up. When I had them in my arms, I gave them little bounces as I spun around. The boys, including Duke, loved it.
Peggy just shook her head and left me to wind them up. She didn’t really care because they would be in daycare soon, and the daycare staff could deal with the little monsters in their overexcited state.
I came down to find Cassidy looking frustrated.
“I broke another one,” she complained and looked to my dad for help.
“No biggy. Just make scrambled eggs,” Dad suggested.
Watching my dad with Cassidy brought back fond memories of him teaching Greg and me how to cook. While Cassidy made our eggs, I told my parents about my virtual business class and my ideas for food delivery. My parents weren’t buying my plan.
“You wouldn’t use the service?” I asked.
“Why, when I can have a pizza delivered for the same price as ordering it at Monical’s? Delivery is free. Plus, I’m not spending extra to have you pick up our food order at three different places, and then it arrives cold.”
“What about grocery delivery?” I asked.
“I want to see what I’m buying, especially produce,” Mom said to shoot that down.
“Why would you want to hire drivers? Do you have them drive their own cars, or are you going to invest in vehicles? Then there’s the liability. Why not just let customers place orders and have them pick up their food at the drive-through at the quickie mart?” Dad asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you wanted to offer the grocery option, have them pick it up. I hate waiting at the window while the person there has to go grab me a gallon of milk. If you offered a phone app that allowed me to order what I wanted, and it’s ready for me when I drove through, I would use that,” Dad explained.
“I’d start with that, and if it worked, then consider expanding to offer some premade meals from the restaurant that could be reheated. I could see you making a killing if you had hot or ready-to-bake cinnamon rolls available Sunday mornings after church,” Mom suggested.
She was right. I would be one of their best customers. In fact, I bet we would put the local doughnut shops out of business. There was an appeal to not having to go into the restaurant when I was in a hurry and had a craving.
“Maybe we should go get them this morning,” Cassidy said as she showed us the skillet with burned eggs in it.
My dad had his work cut out for him.
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Today was a repeat of yesterday. Joey kicked my butt first period. She had me lift with the focus squarely on improving my explosiveness. After an hour with her, my legs felt like jelly, and I could barely walk.
I skipped the voluntary after-school workout to take the written exam for my pilot’s license. I passed without a problem. Tomorrow, I would do my checkout flight, and if I passed that, I would have my license.
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I came home to find Melanie, our cook and housekeeper, cleaning up after dinner.
“Did you save me anything?” I asked.
