8
“Get a move on, you three!” Dad’s gruff voice boomed up the stairs, only slightly muffled by the water hitting the shower glass.
“Before I have to come drag you down here myself,” Danny said, impersonating dad.
“Before I have to come drag you down here myself,” Dad said.
Dan chuckled and the sounds of teeth brushing kicked back in. Knocking off the faucet, I gave my head a sharp shake to loosen the lingering moisture from my ears, and nudged open the door to a room almost as fogged as the section I stepped from. Towels sat in their usual pile on the hamper; I grabbed one and wrapped it around my waist, and a second one to scrub over my hair.
“You almost done?” I asked Dan, who’d gone into trance mode in his brushing.
“Woh?” He twisted round, white froth covering his lips, and point
