Brendan stood at the bathroom sink, staring at his toothbrush. He glanced at his own hand, then back at the toothbrush again, and a grin spread across his face.
"I have powers," he whispered, pointing at the toothpaste tube. ZIIIIP! It launched through the air and landed straight into his palm, cap still sealed. He nearly dropped it, then laughed.
He set the tube down and aimed at the soap dispenser. "Come here too." It wobbled, tipped, and splatted onto the sink with a wet squelch. He scrubbed at the mess.
Under the mirror, a single bubble clung to the glass, shimmering like a tiny planet. Brendan stared at it, his grin returning, as if the whole bathroom belonged to his magic.
Next Brendan pointed at his mom's speckled coffee mug on the edge of the tub. "Come here." The mug slid an inch, then stopped. He pointed again, harder.
The mug scraped forward, then tipped over. Dark coffee spread across the floor, creeping toward the bathroom rug. Brendan froze, eyes wide.
He grabbed a handful of towels and dropped to his knees, soaking up the coffee while muttering, "I'm sorry, Mom." The towels grew heavy and warm.
When he looked up, the bathroom was a mess — toothpaste on the counter, soap on the sink, coffee on the floor. His stomach dropped. Then the door creaked open.
His mom stepped in, saw the chaos, and raised one eyebrow. Brendan held his breath. She looked at the puddle, the soap, the toothpaste, and then at his guilty face.
Instead of being upset, she smiled. "Need a hand?" Brendan nodded. Together they cleaned up — the bathroom spotless, the towels hanging to dry.
Brendan grinned the whole time, glancing at his hands as if they might still hold something magical. But really, the best magic was having someone who helped you clean up.
The bathroom was quiet now. Sunlight pooled on the tiles. The toothbrush sat neatly in its glass. Everything was back to normal — and that was pretty magical too.