Devante woke with a start, the sound of clattering bowls in the kitchen cutting through his sleep. It took a minute of blinking befuddlement before he realized the reason he could hear his father cooking was because he had fallen asleep on the couch. He grimaced, rubbed his neck, and pushed himself to his feet.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he grumbled, stumping into the kitchen and dropping into his chair at the table.
“I did,” Carl retorted. “Chocolate chip or blueberry?”
“Blueberry,” Devante said. “Then why was I still on the couch?”
“Because when I woke you up, you told me you wanted to sleep there, and to leave you alone.” Carl sprinkled a handful of blueberries into the pancake batter in the bowl in front of him, and started pouring it out onto the griddle. “You talk s**t in your
