"I know I put it in here!" I moaned. I reopened every one of my empty drawers and looked through my bare closet. "Where is it?"
I searched through the clothes scattered on my bed for the fifth time. I was looking for my favorite shirt. It was a red American Eagle shirt. It was a little preppy, but I wanted to wear it to school the next day. It had disappeared.
I sat on the floor and pouted. That's the problem with losing things, you can't find them until it's too late, I thought. I wasn't ready to give up the search yet. There was still hope.
Jerry came into my room looking at some sort of homework assignment. "Knock much?" I asked. He looked up and rolled his eyes. He looked at the clothes on my bed and raised his eyebrows.
"Looking for something?" he asked sarcastically.
I could tell he was muffling a smile. He knew where it was. I could've killed him. "WHERE IS IT YOU LITTLE BRAT! GIVE IT BACK!" I yelled, jumping up from the floor.
"What?" he said defensively, "I don't even know what you're looking for!"
"I am looking for my red American Eagle shirt," I said through gritted teeth, "and you know where it is." I pointed my finger at him accusingly.
He seemed to think about it for a second and then he remembered. "Oh, that shirt! Yeah, Mom told me to wash it with my reds. I have a game this Friday and I needed to wash my jersey," he said.
"So where is it now?" I asked.
"Gimme a sec," he said, and darted to his room. He came back with it in his hands. "Here you go, Miss Center-of-the-Universe!" he said as he tossed it to me.
I sighed, relieved, and unfolded my shirt to see if it would go with the dark jeans I had picked out. I noticed something weird about the shirt, something different. It only took me a few seconds to figure out what it was.
"It's...tiny," I whispered. "What happened?" My whispering confusion turned into flat-out rage. "You - SHRUNK IT! YOU SHRUNK IT!" I screeched. I turned around and pushed Jerry toward the door. "GET OUT! Get OUT!" I screamed and slammed the door in Jerry's face.
What am I going to do? I moaned internally. No one in this house understood! No one in THIS house... I thought.
I dug through a stack of papers the school had given us today and found the phonebook. I sifted through the names until I found Peterson, Abigail. I called the number and hoped Abigail would pick up.
I had been expecting Abigail to pick up the phone, so the gruff, "Hello?" that came through startled me. It was her dad.
"Hi. Is Abigail there?" I asked nervously.
"No," the voice said bluntly.
"Can you tell her I called?" I asked.
The voice just grunted and then the line went dead. What a conversation. I wondered what kind of person Abigail's dad was. He didn't seem very kind, but who was I to judge?
