The warm summer air whispered against Wirt's cheeks as he gazed out to the receding sunset. The orange and purple hue's bled into each other and into the deep blue of night as he sighed. He lifted his head and closed his eyes, absorbing the soft croaks of frogs and gentle notes of the peaceful water. As he opened his eyes again he glanced down to the blue bird at his side. Her feathers nearly melted together, yet she was the most solid thing he's set his eyes upon. He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't say a word when she turned his attention to him.
"Wirt?" Asked the bird. He tried to think of what to say. He was certain he knew her name. It was right on the tip of his tongue, yet the word refused to come back.
"Wirt? Wirt?" The bird continued.
"Um...hmm," he hummed in response. What was even going on? How could this blue bird talk?
"Wake up, Wirt! Wirt?" She squawked.
"W-wake up? What are you talking about? Am I...where am I?" He spoke to himself.
"Wake up! Wake up! Wirt, wake up!"

"Ah!" Wirt snapped his eyes open, clutching his pillow as Gregory jumped on his bed.
"Wirt! Wirt! Wake up!" The child sang as he jumped up and down.
"I'm up, I'm up! Stop jumping," Wirt groaned as he pulled the covers over his head.
"It doesn't look like you're up. Open up those eyeballs, Wirt," Greg said as he pounded on his older brother. Wirt grunted at the weight of his younger brother. He tried to push him off while Greg pulled back the blanket and tried to pry his eyes open.
"C'mon brother, it's almost noon," he informed him. Wirt knitted his brows and looked up at Greg. That couldn't be right...
"Noon? How long did I sleep?" He asked groggily.
"I'd say a good 8 hours. Jason Funderburker was upset about you being a lazy brother, and also because you kept him up late at night laughing with Sara."
"Oh, sorry about that," he mumbled as he sat up. That's right, he stayed up late listening to tapes with Sara last night. Good thing it wasn't a school night.
"Don't say sorry to me. Say sorry to Jason Funderburker. He's the one who was upset for some reason," Greg replied and hopped off Wirt's bed.
"Yeah...okay then. I'll make sure to do that. Did mom let you keep him?" He asked as he ran his hand through his bed head.
"Oh yeah. She thought he was cute, but I told her he likes to be called handsome." Wirt smiled down at his little brother, ruffling his hair and yawning.
"Cool. Hey, how's your head?" Wirt asked. "That kettle was pretty heavy, and you kept it on all night."
"Don't worry, Wirt. My head is all fine and dandy," Greg assured him.
"Good, I don't want you getting a headache," Wirt said as he stood up and stretched.
"What's a headache?" Greg asked.
"Uh, it's when your head hurts a lot."
"How do they work?"
"Well, you see, when you think too much, or don't get enough sleep, your brain swells. And what happens is the brain tissue presses against your skull and it starts to hurt under the pressure," Wirt explained as he walked with his brother out of his room and downstairs.
"I have tissues in my brain?"
"No, not the tissues you're thinking of-"
"So, I could blow my nose on my brain? Maybe that's why you talk a lot of snot, you blew your nose on your brain too many times," Greg rambled. The older brother sighed and opened the cabinet to grab a cereal bowl.
"No, Greg, that's not what I meant-"
"Does that mean when people get brain cancer and stuff they get too much snot in their head?" The child asked. Wirt hesitated, his hand hovering over his cereal box as he thought about Greg's words. Cancer...was a touchy subject.
"No. That's not what happens."
"Then what does happen?" Greg was too curious. The older brother brought his bowl and cereal to the counter in front of Greg who sat on a stool.
"You see...in life there are little things everywhere. Sometimes they're nice and help us stay healthy and happy, but sometimes they're mean..."
"Mean? Like a bully?" Wirt nodded.
"Yeah. Exactly. These things, are really small. You can't even see them, but they're there, and if the bad ones stay inside you for too long you could get sick. The same goes for cancer. Some people get too many bullies in their body and...get really really sick," Wirt finished. He poured his cereal and went to the fridge for the milk.
"Why don't they just stand up to the bullies?" Greg asked.
"It's...not always that simple."
"Why not?"
"These bullies are really tough. People need doctors to help them fight off the bullies, and sometimes not even the doctors can do it."
"Wow, those are some strong bullies. If a doctor can't do it, no one can. Did I tell you about the time the doctor cured my heart disease?"
"Greg, you didn't have heart disease. You had heartburn," Wirt informed him. The child shrugged.
"Eh, potato tomato," he replied. Wirt chuckled and poured his milk before setting it back and getting his spoon.
"Whatever dude, just don't wear kettles as hats for too long," he smiled and took a bite of his cereal. Greg nodded.
"Hey, Wirt. I was listening to mom and dad talkin' earlier and dad was talkin' about a 'ginger'."
"Really?" Wirt was surprised. There weren't many gingers in town, and the ones that did live here usually dyed their hair.
"Yeah, but I dunno what a ginger is, so I figured they were talking about cookies. Can we go get ginger snaps today?"
"Maybe. What did they say about the ginger?"
"Dad was all like 'I hope that new ginger prancing around town gets it changed soon, or else she's gonna get a bad deal in this town,' and I didn't really know what he was talking about, so I just watered Peter again."
"Peter? I thought you settled on Jason Funderburker."
"I did, but Peter didn't like it, so I changed it again."
"Oh, okay."
"So, what about them ginger snaps?" Greg questioned, leaning over the counter and eager to hear Wirt's response.
"I dunno, Greg. The store is a bit of a walk for you, and I'm not sure I have enough money."
"Aw, can't you drive?"
"No, I only have my permit, so I can't take you unless mom or dad comes with us," he explained.
"But-" Greg was interrupted as the home phone rang. An unknown number blinked on the tiny screen as Wirt looked at it skeptically. They didn't get many phone calls from unknown number, and his mom always told him not to answer to numbers he didn't recognize. Yet, he still reached for it and picked it up.
"Do you know that number?" Greg asked. Wirt shook his head and held his index finger to his lips to silence him.
"Uh, hello?" He spoke into the phone.
"Wirt?" Said a familiar voice on the other end.
"Who's this?" He asked.
"It's Sara. You gave me your home phone number last night, so...yeah," Sara replied. Wirt laughed nervously.
"I-I didn't think you'd actually call," he stuttered.
"Well, I had fun last night with you listening to poetry and stuff, and I was wondering if you'd like to do it again sometime," she proposed.
"Really! I-I mean...y-you'd wanna do that again?"
"Yeah. I actually really like poetry," she confessed. "But, if you don't want to-"
"No! Wait, I-I mean...no, I don't know what I mean," Wirt groaned and slapped his palm over his face. "What I'm trying to say is: I'd love to."
"Great! I'm free this coming Saturday," she told him.
"M-me too, so you're coming over again?" He asked anxiously, pulling at the collar of his sweater to cool him down.
"Sure!"
"Alright. See you Saturday."
"Okay, bye Wirt."
"Bye...Sara." The teenager sighed as he clicked the phone off and dug his fingers through his messy brown hair. "Gosh, I'm so stupid," he grumbled to himself.
"Was that Sara? Are you gonna see her again?" Greg asked.
"Yeah...I'm gonna see her on Saturday," he replied.
"That's cool! Are you guys gonna listen to more poetry and clarinet music?"
"Maybe...I don't know, I might cancel," Wirt mumbled.
"What! Why?"
"Because I'll make a fool of myself or something," he said miserably.
"No you won't, you only do that on accident all the time."
"Thanks, Greg. That's really reassuring," Wirt snarked.
"No problem. Now can we ask dad about those ginger snaps now?" He begged. Wirt sighed and dumped the leftover milk from his bowl in to the sink.
"Yeah, sure."