Two Under Par by Kevin Henkes Page A

cringe. If he’s ever going to be my brother, Wedge thought, he’ll need major reforming.
    â€œHey, Androop?” Wedge called one afternoon when they were alone in the family room.
    â€œIt’s An- drew! What?”
    â€œYou know what you are?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œA P.T.F.”
    â€œWhat’s that? ” Andrew asked, looking puzzled and slightly concerned.
    â€œIt’s a Public Television Freak and they’re extremely abnormal,” Wedge explained. “And people who are P.T.F.’s die young.”
    â€œYou’re lying.”
    â€œThe symptoms are stringy blond hair, runny noses, and skinny bodies. Also, P.T.F.’s wear sweaters that zipper and they snap their fingers the same goofy way Mr. Rogers does.”
    â€œI don’t believe you,” Andrew said. “Sally told me that if you bothered me I should just ignorm you. She said that you hate that worst of all. So there,” Andrew finished, crossing his arms against his tiny chest and turning his attention back to “Sesame Street.” Swaying in beat with the Muppets, who were doing a jaunty musical number.
    Andrew had hit a soft spot. Wedge did hate being ignored. And it annoyed him that Sally had told such a personal thing to Andrew. “It’s ig- nore , not ig- norm! ” Wedge corrected, mimicking Andrew. “You really like that junk?” Wedge persisted, making faces at the TV.
    â€œI’m ignorming you!” Andrew shrieked, keeping his eyes glued to the Muppets.
    â€œIt’s not real,” Wedge said, walking up to the TV and turning the channel. “Now this is real.” It was “General Hospital.” And two people were kissing. For a long time. A very long time.
    After a few more kisses, Andrew had settled back and forgotten about the Muppets. “Hey, Androop,” Wedge said, getting comfortable on the floor with a pillow, “you might not be so hopeless after all.”
    â€œShhh,” Andrew hissed. “This is good.”
    During the last night of the rainy weather, Wedge woke up sensing something. Not something wrong. Just something different.
    Wedge turned on his bedside lamp, his eyes taking a minute to adjust to the bright light. When his blinking eyes could finally focus, he saw Andrew, curled up like a cashew on the foot of his bed. He was awake. And shaking.
    â€œYou mad?” Andrew asked sheepishly.
    Wedge was too groggy to answer.
    â€œIt was the thunder and lightning,” Andrew explained. “And Dad and Sally’s door was locked.”
    I’m probably too sleepy to make any sense, Wedge thought, as he patted the empty space beside him on the bed.
    â€œThanks, Wedge,” Andrew whispered, climbing under the covers. “Thanks a lot.”
    â€œYeah,” Wedge whispered back, turning away toward the wall, wondering if it was all a dream.

----
12. Prince
----
    W hen the rain finally stopped, Wedge felt like a freed prisoner. Just to be outside in the sunshine with the warm breeze and the insects whizzing by was a relief. So it didn’t bother Wedge too much when King approached him about fixing the castle.
    King cornered Wedge after breakfast. Wedge was squatting on the bottom step of the porch, sharpening a stick against a cinder block. The tip of the stick made Wedge think of the squirt tip on the top of a can of Reddi Wip. Reddi Wip used to be Wedge’s favorite food. He would buy it at the Stop and Shop, a block from his old apartment building. Wedge had at least one can a week, sitting behind the apartment alone, squirting the cream onto his finger or directly into his mouth. Once, after Sally had reprimanded Wedge for snacking in bed and getting chocolate stains on his new sheets from the J. C. Penney white sale, he ate three cans of Reddi Wip to console himself. One right after the other, until he could barely move and felt like a giant marshmallow. That was the last can of Reddi Wip Wedge ever