Jacob stumbled sleepy-eyed to the kitchen table and let the steamy, Sweatusmell of cinnamon-sugared oatmeal fill his senses. Mom sat
quietly at the other end of the table, drinking her cup of coffee. From
her silence, he knew that she expected an apology. Last night, they had
discussed his lack of effort to complete his short story for English
class. English was his least favorite subject, but writing was a talent
that came easily to him. His mom glanced up at him and smiled. She
knew that if she waited patiently, Jacob would apologize. And he did.