»Part Three: Little Pink Shrimp «

"What about this?" I asked, holding up a blue tee-shirt.

"Nah," Ed frowned, "Never liked blue,"

It was Tuesday morning, 6:30, and we were going through my closet trying to find something for Ed to wear to school. I had already decided that his pants were okay, and he insisted on keeping the shoes (wonder why), so now all he needed was a normal-looking shirt.

"Okay, then..." I dug through another pile of clothes and pulled out a grey shirt that said 'Bar Harbor' on it. I held it up. "This?"

He smiled, "Yeah, that one looks--" He noticed something under the 'Bar Harbor' part. There, stitched into the shirt, was a picture of a little pink shrimp. "No way, I am NOT wearing that!" He made a face and crossed his arms.

What so many people wouldn't give to see him in that shirt. I laughed.

"WHAT'S SO FUNNY?" Ed nearly exploded, almost sure of the answer. I wanted to say it, but I probably would've been eliminated in the process.

"You don't like it?" I replied facetiously, making sure we both knew what was going on.

"Pft..." He glared at me, "Keep looking."

I laughed quietly to myself as I pulled out another shirt. This one belonged to Dylan, John's 13-year-old boy, but it looked like it might fit Ed. Dylan was taller than Ed was, but only by half an inch, so I held up the shirt once more.

"Okay, this one."

Ed turned around, uncrossing his arms.

"It's my, uh, friend's," I told him, "But he doesn't wear it."

"Looks fine," Ed took it and held one of the sleeves up to his left arm, making sure it would fit. "Anything WRITTEN on it? Anything I should KNOW about it?" He emphasized certain words.

I knew what he was talking about. "No, it's just a plain old shirt."

"It better be," Ed sneered, lifting off his shirt as if I didn't care.

"Excuse me!" I said, turning away, "Care to do that while I'm not looking?"

"Suit yourself," Not something I'd expect him to say, "How's it look?"

I turned around and made a picture frame with my index fingers and thumbs, as if I were testing the outcome. I was so used to seeing Ed in his black sleeveless shirt; he looked so different in Dylan's shirt. This one was white long-sleever and had faded, tomato-colored sleeves. Two white stripes stuck out from each sleeve and ran down the arms like a race car. I would probably have worn the shirt myself!

"Looks great!" I said. He smiled, showing off his teeth. I withdrew slightly and ran my tongue against the back of mine, which now had bright blue spacers around them. Today was going to be my first day at school since I had gotten the spacers.

Ed noticed my semi-sulk. "What's wrong?"

"Ugh... just these new spacers," I pulled back my lip and showed him the rubber bands.

"Eech," He grimaced, "Do they hurt?"

I felt one with my tongue. "They're supposed to," I bit down hard, "but they don't."

"That sucks," Ed frowned and put his fists on his hips.

"Yeah, I can't eat anything sticky or chewy..." Then I remembered, "Oh my god, I forgot breakfast! I mean, well, I don't eat it... but I forgot to make you some..."

Ed's stomach growled and he placed his hand on it, "Right, food."

Ed had his arms folded in front of him on the table, resting his head on them and waiting for food. I opened the cabinet and grabbed out several boxes of cereal, then placed them down on the table and waited for him to pick. I was in such a hurry that a certain detail had effortlessly managed to slip my mind.

But not Ed's.

"Erm..." he started to remind me as I hastily opened the fridge. It was 6:50 and we had just about half an hour to get to school on time—and it was a half hour walk.

"Did you pick one yet?" I asked, not even expecting an answer.

He lifted his head, shoving a cereal box aside. "About that..." His voice trailed off as he realized I wasn't fully listening.

I reached inside the fridge. "Okay, now we have orange juice and lemonade to drink," I offered.

"Uh, orange juice. Y'know, I--" I cut him off.

"Orange juice it is!" I poured him a glass and shoved it into his hands, nearly spilling it. Then I went back to the fridge. "Have you picked your cereal yet?"

"No--" Ed barely had time to answer before I cut him off again.

"Okay, we have whole milk, one percent, skim, two per--" I froze, turning towards Ed. He looked back at me, nervously laughing.

"Oh, THAT's right," I said through gritted teeth, a slightly annoyed tone to my voice, "You don't DRINK milk, right?"

He frowned and shook his head.

I slammed the fridge door. "HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GET YOU CEREAL IF YOU WON'T EVEN DRINK ANY MILK? YOU PUNY LITTLE BABY!" I yelled, enraged—which is odd, because I'm usually laid back.

"WHAT'D YOU CALL ME?" Ed yelled back.

"YOU HEARD ME! YOU ARE A PUNY LITTLE B-A-B-Y BABY!" Now it was just for fun. "NO, WAIT—YOU'RE WORSE THAN A BABY! CAUSE UNLIKE YOU, BABIES DRINK MILK!"

"WAIT'LL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, I'LL—"

And somewhere, outside, sits Al; watching all of this from the shed.

Sigh. "Oh, brother."