Piano Practice

"Mom!" said Lucas, "Please! Do I really have to keep practicing piano? I wanna go, like, play football and stuff now, and hang out with Caleb's friends and stuff!"

"Lucas," said his mother, "You are not going to be 'hanging out' with Caleb's friends any time soon! You're eight years old, for God's sake! What would you do with a bunch of college-aged boys like you're brother's friends! Now, until we can figure out what went wrong with you're father's machine, and until we can get you and your brother back in your own bodies, we are just going to have to try and keep things as normal as they can be -- and that means you are going to practice your piano, young man!"

"Aw, Mom!" Lucas said, dejectedly, "You're no fun! I hate you!"

"Do you want to go to your room?" she asked sternly, "Is that what you want, Lucas? And no dinner?"

"No, Mom," said Lucas, unhappily turning back to his piano music, "I'm sorry."

"I better hear that music while I'm getting dinner ready," she said, heading off into the kitchen.

In the shiny reflection of the piano, Lucas tried to get a glimpse of himself and even managed to quickly flex his new arm muscles.

"This would be so cool," he said to himself, "If only my mom would let me have some fun!"

"What did you say?" he heard his mom say from the kitchen.

"Nothing, Mom," he said.

"That's what I thought!" she said, "Now get playing that piano!"