"I feel a sense of impending doom brooding over this household," my youngest brother remarked cheerfully as he vaulted into his chair.
"You always do, Timothy," my mother said, unfolding her napkin. "And I must say it's not in good taste, especially at breakfast."
He reached for his juice. "Guess this is a doomed household. And what was all that emotional uproar about?"
"The usual," Sylvia said from the doorway before anyone else could answer. She slid warily into her chair. "Hey, Dan, I'm here!" she called. "If anything else comes in, it comes in manually, understand?"
"Oh, all right." Dan emerged from the kitchen with a tray of food floating ahead of him.
"The usual? Trouble with Kev?" Tim looked at me narrowly. "Somehow my sense of ominousness is connected with him."
"Well, that's perfectly natural—" Sylvia began, then stopped as Mother caught her eye.
"I didn't mean that," Tim said. "I still say Kev's got something we can't figure out."
"You've been saying that for years," Danny protested, "and he's been tested for every faculty under the Sun. He can't telepath or teleport or telekinesthesize or even teletype. He can't precognize or prefix or prepossess. He can't—"
"Strictly a bundle of no-talent, that's me," I interrupted, trying to keep my animal feelings from getting the better of me. That was how my family thought of me, I knew—as an animal, and not a very lovable one, either.