Creative Writing: Dragon's Throttle

“It’s six o'clock, Mom.” Leah, my older sister, grumbles as our packed car finally reaches the campground. “And what does that signify, sweetheart?” Mom asks. “You explicitly stated that we would be there at five thirty!” At this, Leah explodes into a never-ending flood of babyish complaint.
“You always lie! For an entire hour I was sitting in the car between two senseless simpletons! Why must crummy stuff always happen to me? We shouldn’t even go camping anymore because it’s too mundane! You guys are liars who don’t tell the truth!”
Mason, my older brother, perks up a bit and refutes Leah’s complaints, “Ya can’t call me senseless, Leah,” he snorts, “because I got twenty/twenty vision! Ha ha! Get it? Twenty/twenty vision means I got
I bet you’ll feel as wise as an owl by the time you learn how to count the pegs. Just remember to start with one, and then go to two, then, three, four, five…”
“I know how to count!” He yells. The best part of taunting Mason is that he is five years older than me, so my parents would reprimand him if he attempts to gain revenge on me.
“Come on rascals, let’s go get some firewood.” Dad has to drag an unamused Leah and entertain me simultaneously in order to keep us on the correct path. I hope he can comprehend that his senseless humor and face contortioning expressions lost their value thirty seconds into our “expedition.” The single reason I am still walking with him is to to see Leah’s fancy sandals be destroyed as she is dragged along a muddy path. The only thing Leah is deeply concerned about is her social media status - which, I presume, she is checking right now.
I look up at the sky which is mainly covered by trees. The bits that I can see look gloomy and stormy. A drop of water lands on my forehead.
“Jimmy, you’re disgusting.” Leah mumbles. I can barely make a distinction between the different words she is saying, but I do recognise her favorite word, which is
Can we go? I don’t want to catch Ebola.”
“Leah,” Dad sighs, “rain is completely natural. And it does not carry Ebola, so I think you’ll be okay.”
“Yah Leah,” I join the fun, “listen to what Dad is saying! Would you let go of the whole Ebola thing already? Five cases in the United States one year and everyone went berserk! Then there are thousands of cases in Africa and it’s like no one cares! That’s so messed up and, besides, you don’t even get Ebola from rain. You get it from the bodily fluids of an infected person!”
“Agh! Jimmy! Enough! You are so obnoxious!” Leah theatrically covers her ears with her hands and spins around on her heals. Dad reprimands me and pulls out his cell phone.
“Jimmy, you’ve ought to leave your sister alone long enough for me to call your mother and tell her we may be a little late coming back from our little entrada.” Dad loves saying entrada, but it’s really just a fancy way of saying boring hiking trip. He grumbles that the service is poor in this area of the woods and begins to walk around in circles. My assumption is that he is trying to get out of the forest so the trees quit blocking his precious wifi