Yellow (editing)

Two A.M Rosy Red Cheeks

A week after Marybeth came over to work on the project – after she had (thankfully) given us both a 90 percent on it (we were deducted 5 percent for lack of creativity, but that was a fault on my part), my hero of a dad decided to spend a peaceful Sunday morning with me by taking me fishing. You see, my dad was never a traditional man. He wasn't like other parents; all the other parents of the world tended to wait patiently by their baby's side just to hear them say their first word and clap insanely when the baby took their first steps, but my dad never cared for that. My mom did, though, but that's beside the point. My dad was a different type of parent. He threw me a freaking party when I walked to Main Street using my white cane without anyone's hand guiding me, and bought me my video game console when I wrote my first paragraph using my braille machine. My dad was not a traditional man, so naturally, that meant that he had never ever actually gone fishing in his entire life.

"It'll be fun. We could be real men," dad said as he stuffed his face with pizza, "Men. Muscles. Grr."

I scoffed. "You know what's manly? Going out for sushi and ordering two bento boxes instead of one."

"There are different types of manly, bud, and fishing is possibly the best kind. You agreed to it the other day."

"That was when I knew it was in a week. You don't even like fishing. I don't want to go tomorrow, please? What if I fall into the water?"

"The boat will be lighter!"

At that point my mom had put her foot down and made it clear that I was indeed, going fishing at 5 a.m. on Sunday, and then changed the subject into why my dad had been wearing pajamas the whole day. They then talked about our beloved Barry-the-spitting-tutor and how he had chased his dream all the way to Australia, to which I added that he actually got over his fear of airplanes on the flight there (at least, that's what was said when he called to give me an update). When my mom heard that she burst into laughter and was so full of joy that I was almost sure that she cried. That gave my dad a chance to eat the last slice of pizza from her plate.

After dinner I helped my mom wash/dry the dishes – without dropping any – and then locked myself in my room in order to force myself to focus on my book report that was due on Monday. It was probably midnight by the time I actually started, and that's when I heard the phone ring. I groaned, hurriedly finished my introduction, and ran to answer it.

"Hello?" I said, trying to hide my grumpiness.

"Dude, why are you always so cranky when you pick up the phone?"

"Why are you always calling me at unearthly hours?"

"It's only," he paused, "12:36."

"It's been a long day, Egan."

"No Orenda?"

"No Marybeth?"

"Shut up."

"Why don't you tell me why you're calling before my inner old lady gets flung out and I hang up on you?"

He sighed. "Okay. So, get this. I'm at school and I'm sitting at the back of the class during Bio. Olly Peters taps me on my shoulder and compliments my new hoodie, and I tell him thank you, like any normal person would. And then he hands me a note, and by that time I'm freaking the crap out because, well, is he flirting with me? Hopefully he wasn't. He wasn't. On the note is some weird address and then he tells me, "see you, next Friday, come any time after six. Invite anyone." So, I tell him, holy crap, of course! That's because Olly is the richest kid in the grade and his house is a hell of a lot bigger than what we see in our neighbourhood. Wanna come?"

"Basically, a highschool party?"

"Yep."

"Me? Blind dude? Blind, uncool, BLIND dude? Blind. With you?" I really wanted to get the message across.