Sagaria by John Dahlgren

summer house up at Eagle Lake, and we’re going to be spending the summer there. He’s building us a swimming pool too; it should be just about finished by now.” His voice took on a note of mock-rhapsody. “Oh, it’s going to be so nice to have a long, cool swim after a hot game of tennis on our private court. Then, I think I’ll relax with my latest PlayStation game or maybe my Xbox, my Wii or my Nintendo DS. My dad promised to pre-order the next new game console that comes out.”
    Blunkett and Sprode made appropriate chortling noises. Sprode opened his satchel, took out his iPad and made a great show of checking that he’d switched it off. Sagandran knew it was just Sprode’s way of reminding Sagandran of his poverty status.
    Webster’s face twisted into a scowl. “What about you, you little down-and-out? You going to be spending your days down at the soup kitchen, scrounging for scraps?”
    More sycophantic jollity from the two cronies.
    Sagandran felt his face flush with rage. His family had never had any money to spare – they weren’t rich like the Thickwit Trio’s folks and he didn’t have any game consoles – but at the same time, Sagandran never felt he went without anything worth having. Well, not until recently, anyway. Not until a few weeks ago, when his dad had moved out after a particularly big quarrel with Mom. It wasn’t that Dad wasn’t giving them any money, Mom kept stressing that to Sagandran. In fact, if anything, there seemed to be a little more money around than usual. But at the same time, Sagandran definitely did feel poorer now that Dad wasn’t around any longer. He couldn’t understand why Mom and Dad were behaving this way, with one of them having to move out. Sure, they argued a lot. They always had, for as long as he could remember, and that last row had been a real biggie. You could have heard it ten blocks away. Mom had smashed half a set of dishes and two porcelain shepherdesses Sagandran had thought wereTrue Pukesville and been glad to see the last of. But how were people supposed to settle their arguments and solve their differences if one of them wasn’t there any longer?
    Webster interrupted his thoughts.
    â€œYou! Frogface! I asked you a question.”
    â€œI’m going to be at Eagle Lake as well. I’m going up there to stay with my grandpa.”
    â€œOh, no!” cried Webster theatrically, clapping a hand to his forehead and making a face of dismay so grotesque that his bubblegum fell out of his mouth and landed in the dirt (not that it made much difference to its appearance, because he’d been chewing it so long it had gone gray). Sagandran was surprised Webster didn’t just pick it up and stick it back in.
    â€œNot your ever-loving grandfather,” Webster was saying. “That old bozo. Him and his shack – it looks like an outside lav’. Why doesn’t he sell it so someone can knock it down? It’s like a great big zit getting in the way of our view of the lake.”
    â€œYou should hear what he says about that country house of yours,” growled Sagandran. “He calls it a total eyesore. Says it looks like it was designed by Liberace.”
    â€œWho’s Liberace?”
    â€œBesides,” Sagandran carried on, ignoring the question, “my grandpa’s been living out on Eagle Lake for years and years, long before that summer place your dad bought was even built. He’s got more right to be there than you people have.”
    â€œOh, yeah?” said Webster, spreading his arms as if to appeal to the judgement of the other two, who were nodding and leering, egging him on. “But your grandfather’s a loonie man. That’s what my dad says. He says your grandpa should be locked up in a home somewhere, and the key thrown away.”
    â€œGrandpa’s not a loonie!”
    â€œSure, he’s not.” Webster raised