by Dean Murray
Copyright 2011 by Dean Murray
"Abby, get your butt out here or I'm going to leave you. If we don't get to the party soon, all of the jocks will already be passed out. Once that happens they're useless to us."
Steph was a royal pain, but she was Abby's only friend. Besides, she was right. Most of the football team would have had half a six pack or so before they even arrived.
Abby flipped her phone shut, slipped her sweater the rest of the way over her head, and pulled her bedroom door shut behind her.
Jack was downstairs with his blocks. Not playing with them really, more like just lining them up. If you left him alone, he'd spend hours moving them around; rearranging them from one pattern to another, never more than one story high. It was the only piece of Jack's condition that made life livable. As long as mom and whichever loser guy she happened to be with at a given moment could avoid getting into a yelling match, Jack pretty much took care of himself. As much as a thirteen year old who barely talked and who still played with blocks could really be considered to take care of himself.