Phineas and I are thirteen now, and we've been working on a project all day. It's a band, actually. We're giving a concert at about eight. Phineas sings and plays guitar; I sing and play keyboard, bass, and drum set on various pieces, Buford and Isabella do whatever we need them to.

But that's not the story I'm trying to tell.

Phineas and I sit surrounded by paper on our couch. We're composing. And after a few minutes of silence, Phineas asks, "Hey, Ferb. Can you call me Phin from now on?"

I shrug. This is all the prompting Phineas—Phin—needs. "Because Phineas is sort of a mouthful."

I've never called my stepbrother anything but Phineas. Phin doesn't seem big enough for him, somehow. Even so, I nod. It's not a big deal.

Phin nods and we go back to composing.

We're fifteen when I realize.

School's just let out, and out of the blue Phin asks, "So, Ferb, have you ever asked anyone out?"

I shake my head (I'm not much of a people person, as you may have noticed) and wait for Isabella, on the other side of Phin, to jump in.

"Because I was thinking about asking this girl to a movie…" Phin continues. Isabella's face doesn't light up. She's interested, but very few people wouldn't be.

"Who?" I ask Phin.

Phin rubs his hands on his jeans, a nervous habit of his. "Gretchen."

"My Gretchen?" Isabella asks with a mischievous smile. No hurt or disappointment is evident on her face or in her voice. "She totally likes you, Phineas."

It seems the obsessive crush is over.

Whoa. That's all I can think.

Sixteen. "So, what do you wanna do this summer?" Phin asks on our first day after our sophomore year.

Build a car.

And maybe go to a movie.

With a certain Fireside Girl in the passenger seat. (And no, I'm not sure when it stopped being Vanessa.)

But I don't say this. "Actually, I have a job interview in a few minutes."

Phin nods glumly. "Okay. Maybe tomorrow."

Maybe.

Or not.

"Ferb," Isabella says one day, "What's with the pants?"

I shrug.

"C'mon," she insists. "You've been wearing purple old-man armpit pants since we were ten, and a polo shirt. Go get on something normal."

So I go inside and change into jeans and a Love Händel t-shirt. And when I run into Mom on my way back out, she has to take a picture and send it to Candace. (I see myself in a mirror, and I have to admit, I like the new look.)

Finally I get outside. I sit under the tree with Phin, Gretchen, Isabella, Buford, and Baljeet. They're all staring.

"Who knew, Ferb?" Isabella says cheerfully after a moment. "You're sort of cute without those dorky clothes."

Buford spews soda out of his nose (Baljeet hands him a handkerchief) and I smile.

"Senior summer," Phin says gravely the day after graduation. "What can we do?"

I remember the summer after fourth grade. That first day.

"Let's build a roller coaster," I suggest.

Phin grins. And then Isabella walks into our backyard. "Whatcha doin'?" she asks.

Twenty minutes later, Phin comes out of the house carrying a jar of peanut butter, looks around, and says, "Hey, where's Perry?"

I smile, shrug, and hand him a blowtorch.

The more things change, I suppose.

Um, this one is short. x3 I wrote it almost a year ago, and while I didn't think the boys would ever stop inventing totally, they are becoming teenagers-but don't worry, in my mind they never become totally normal. Anyway, please R&R!

this is a one-shot and will not be continued; please do not alert it

i do not own