The Birthday Bash

I got used to the way Fudge looeked without his top
front teeth. He looked like a very small first grader.
Dr. Brown, our dentist, said he'd have to wait until he
was six or seven to get his grown-up teeth. I started
calling him Fang beacause when he smiles all you can
see are the top two side teeth next to the big space. So
it looks like he has fangs.

My mother didn't like that. "I want you to stop
calling him Fang," she told me.
"What should I asked. "Farley Drexel?"
"What's Wrong with Farley Drexel?" I asked. How
come you named him that if you don't like it?
"I like it fine," my mother said. "But right now we
call him Fudge. Not Farley ... not Drexel ... and not
Fang!"
"What's wrong with Fang?" I asked . "I think it
sounds neat."
"Fang is an insult!"
"Oh ... come on, Mom! He doesn,t even know
what a fang is!"
"But I know, Peter. And I don't Like it
"okay ...okay...." I promised never to call my
brother Fang again.
But secretley, whenever I look at him I Think it.
My brother,Fang Hatcher! Nobody can stop me from
thinking. My mind is my own.
Fudge is going to be three years old. My mother
said he should have a Birthda Party with some of his
friends. He plays with three other little kids who live
in our building. There's jennie , Ralph , and Sam. My
mother invited them to Fudge's party. Grandma said
she'd come over to help. My Father couldn't make it
He had a Saturday business appointment. I wanted to
go to Jimmy Fargo's but my brother said she needed
me to supervise the games. The kids were invited from
one until two-thirty.