“Aha,” my brother said.
I forgot about the little poem on the back and was immediately sorry for sharing.
“The poem is plagiarized,” my brother said.
“No, it’s not.”
“Oh yeah? Who uses words like thee? Huh?”
“It’s poetic,” I said.
“It’s not poetic. It’s pathetic.”
“Give me back the picture.”
My brother tossed it back at me.
“Hey, watch that.”
“Hey, watch that,” he mimicked.
Me and Gypsy picked up Millie in the Fastback. With his driving gloves and cap Millie’s mom said he looked like he was heading to the Grand Prix instead of a skating rink. Once we all piled in, Gypsy floored it. He shifted, double clutched, and really opened her up on snaking Rocky River Drive, blowing off five cars at a time. Millie was petrified, her head glued against the headrest. I held on in the back se
