FSE

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That Friday after school Larry rode with Plato to his home. The minotaur drove a white station wagon which had to be older than both of them combined, but the interior was pristine. It even had a stereo which allowed a connection to an MP3 player, and was currently playing songs from one. Larry didn't recognize the song, but it sounded like some kind of technopop.

"Thanks for agreeing to tutor me," Plato said, barely louder than the music playing.

"You kept Courtland from beating me up," Larry said. "So I think we're even."

Plato chuckled. "Maybe. Has he been bothering you lately?"

Larry shook his head. "He avoids me whenever I'm walking down the hallway. You really put a scare into him."

"I don't like bullies. He's just lucky I'm more of a Ferdinand type of bull."

Larry looked at Plato, who kept his calm gaze on the road. "I wouldn't want you mad at me, and that's the truth."

"I don't like getting mad either." He glanced over at Larry, a toothy grin appearing quickly. "It's bad for the digestion."

They drove down a residential area, rows of houses on either side of them, and soon Plato maneuvered the station wagon into a driveway, and parked next to a cherry-red convertible. "Dad's home," he said, a touch a nervousness in his voice. "I guess you get to meet him."

The house was made of up two stories and was colored in a soothing peach. Plato led Larry up to the front door, unlocked it, and called out as he entered "Hey, Dad! I'm home!"

A voice replied "I'm in the kitchen! Did you bring your friend?"

"Yes sir, I did." Plato moved down the hall, with Larry following closely behind. They entered a spacious kitchen, brilliantly lit by both the sunlight streaming from the windows and the lighting overhead. A long-haired human male dressed in blue jeans and a black polo t-shirt poured a bag of potato chips into a bowl.

"You must be Larry," he said with a smile and stretched out his hand. "I'm Jordan."

Larry shook the offered hand. "Hello, sir. This is a nice place you have here."

Jordan beamed down at Larry, then looked up at Plato as he handed him the bowl of chips. "I like him already," he said before looking back at Larry. "Would you like to stay for dinner? I'm making grilled chicken."

"I'd like that, but can I use your phone to call my parents for permission?"

Jordan's smiled broadened. "You don't have a cell phone? I thought all you kids had one."

"No sir, my parents won't let me have one until I turn eighteen."

"Huh." Jordan looked up at Plato. "Maybe we should have made you wait. It would've saved us some money with all the texting you did that one month."

Plato gave the ceiling a brief glance, as if pleading to a higher power. "I was young and crazy back then, Dad."

"News flash, son. You still are." Jordan gestured towards the phone on the wall. "Go ahead and call your parents, Larry."

"Thank you, sir."

"Jordan, please. Sir is my father."