"Hey," Simmons said in his high pitched, five year old voice.
"Yeah?" Grif responded, his voice similar.
"You ever wonder why we're here?" Simmons asked, leaning against the ladder to the slide.
"Yeah, like what's the purpose of this craft, or when's lunch? I dunno, but it keeps me up at nap," Grif nodded, sage-like.
"No, doofus, I meant here, in this playroom,"
"That's cause our parents dropped us off,"
"No! Ugh! I mean why are we here, across from the blue table?"
"Oh! . . . well I dunno . . . cause we're red?" Grif ducked as Simmons tried to hit him over the head.
"Church!" Tucker whined, "I wanna use the binoculars" he gestured to the pair made out of toilet paper tubes his comrade was using.
"No. Be quiet!" Church barked, mispronouncing 'quiet' as 'quite'.
"Well at least tell me what they're doing!" Tucker pouted and whined.
"They're just sitting there building with blocks! And when you ask me five minutes from now 'What are they doing?' they'll still just be sitting there and they'll still just be building with blocks!"
Tucker's bottom lip jutted out more and he asked innocently, "Well . . . what are they building?"
Church rolled his eyes. "I dunno, Tucker. Why don't you ask them?"
"Because we're blue and they're red?"
"Oh my god," Church was saved from Tucker's dumbness by Mr. Flowers and Mr. Sarge calling their four pre-schoolers to attention.
"Alright now boys," Flowers clapped proudly, "We have a new preschooler today! His name is Lopez. He is Spanish," he said slowly so they'd understand. "Can you all repeat after me? 'Lopez is Spanish,'"
"Lopez is spanch!" A chorus of four pre-school voices repeated.
"Close enough," Flowers smiled. "Anywho, Lopez will be sitting at Red Table with Grif and Simmons, so I'll let Mr. Sarge take it from here!"
"Aww man!" Tucker whispered to his table mate, "That means they get another guy on red!"
"Yeah, duh, Tucker," Church responded with a roll of his eyes.
"Hey, ya punks. Lopez no speako English, so Simmons, you can talk for him. Just assume he wants what you want. Shouldn't be too hard. I have faith in ya!" Sarge said.
Simmons' freckled cheeks darkened with a humble blush. "Thank you, Mr. Sarge! I am deeply . . . what's the word Daddy taught me? . . . on-on-on red! I am on red Mr. Sarge!"
"The word is 'honored' soldier," was Sarge's response before walking away, making Simmons beam happily.
"Butt-kisser," Grif whispered just loud enough for Simmons to hear.
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
"I am not!"
"Are too!"
"Am no-"
"Momma says so!"
This made Simmons pout. ". . . Your mom doesn't like me . . .?"
"No! I- I mean – " Simmons began to walk away as Grif protested, his freckled face red and hot with on-coming tears. "Simmons . . . I- I didn't mean that . . . please . . ." Grif grabbed his friend's hand and did the only thing he knew to do – he hugged him.