Mike watched Micky come in the room. "Did you hear all that?" he asked. Micky nodded.
"Most of it," he replied. "Mike, I'm sorry. I was wrong to blame you. Peter's problems are my fault. I just blamed you because I didn't want to face the guilt," he said, and explained how he'd been yelling at Peter.
"It's okay, Micky," Mike said. "It is partly my fault; I know leaving couldn't have been good for Peter. I'm sorry."
Micky grinned. But before they could say anything, they were interrupted by a shout from upstairs.
"Mike! Micky!" Instantly, they looked at each other and bolted out of the room and up the stairs.
Mike entered the room first, his longer legs having gotten him there faster. "What, what is it?" he asked, panicking.
I looked up at him from where I was sitting next to Peter. "'E's got a really 'igh fever," I said, putting my hand on Peter's forehead. Micky entered the room just in time to hear that.
Micky looked at the floor, upset. "This means there's somethin' physically wrong with him," Mike said, spelling it out for anyone who hadn't gotten the subliminal message. "So the fever coulda caused him to break down like that," he added.
"Which would mean that it wasn't really our fault," Micky finished, feeling relieved.
"Right," I said. "But Petah's still sick," I said, looking at Peter. He was unconscious, and he looked pale. Mike and Micky looked at each other and then at Peter. "So what do we do now?" I asked.
Mike looked thoughtful for a second, and Micky and I watched him, waiting for him to come up with an idea. "I guess we just take care of him till he gets better," Mike said, shrugging.
"Uh, Mike?" Micky asked. "Does this mean we hafta sleep in the living room until he's better?"
Mike thought for a moment. "Na," he said. "I don't want us to get sick, but we can't all sleep in the livin' room. " He thought for a second. "We'll just have Pete sleep in the spare room downstairs," he decided.
"Okay," Micky agreed. "But how are we gonna get him down there?"
"DAVY! MICKY! WHERE'S THE CAR?" I heard Mike's loud voice as he let loose the full-force of his vocal cords and lungs. Micky and I both winced at the volume but were too exhausted to get up off the floor where we lay and explain about the car. I moaned in Micky's general direction.
"'Ey Mick, you wanna go and tell 'im about the car?" I asked.
"Me? You're the one who wrecked it," Micky countered.
"I know, but I'm tired," I whined. Mike was getting impatient, and he walked into the house to ask us in person. We both heard the slam of the door as he entered, and then as he opened his mouth to yell at us.
"MICKY? DAVY? I WANT ANSWERS!" he shouted, not bothering to lower his volume despite being indoors. I sighed and stood up to go explain to Mike.
As it turned out, we ended up having pizza delivered to us that night, and Mike wasn't too mad about the car when he found out about the hundred dollars a week. When nightfall came, we decided to take turns sitting with Peter, and Mike volunteered to take the first shift, promising to wake one of us after a few hours.
The next morning, I awoke to hear the alarm ringing in my ear. I moaned and pulled the pillow over my head, not wanting to bother to turn it off. I heard a moan from Micky's side of the room, and a thump as his pillow knocked over the alarm. It was now even more totaled than the car, but at least that infernal ringing had stopped.
Only to be substituted by another ringing as the phone began. I heard Micky moan. "Davy, answer that," he moaned.
I moaned back at him. "Mike, could you get that?" I asked. There was no response. "Mike?" I asked, expecting him to tell Peter to get it. But the only response was the ringing phone......
Back! (no, not to the future, to the main page!)
No, still not to the future, to part thirty-three Man, you're confused..this is on to part thirty-five!!
