Two Under Par by Kevin Henkes Page A

was in the shape of Texas, upside down.
    Wedge vowed that no one else would ever see his spot, except for his wife if he ever got married. Which was highly unlikely because most of the girls he knew were like Judith Mills. And that was bad news.
    Wedge was thinking that perhaps the spot meant that his real father was living in Texas somewhere, when his mother called from the hallway.
    â€œWedge! Andrew! Time for breakfast!”
    â€œHow can she sound so cheerful?” Wedge mumbled, taking one last look at the castle, before turning and heading for the good smells of the kitchen.
    It didn’t make sense.
    Like everything else.
    Nothing. Ever. Made. Sense.
    When Wedge entered the kitchen, King and Andrew were already seated at the table eyeing stacks of steaming pancakes. Wedge could tell that King had done the cooking, because the pancakes were perfect, golden disks. Sally always made pancakes in the shapes of unidentifiable animals, which were usually broken, crumbled, or burned by the time they got to your plate. Wedge walked past his new father and brother without a word and sat at the far end of the table.
    â€œMorning, Sally,” Wedge said to his mother, who was waiting in her bright red robe by the stove for the teakettle to whistle. Her hair hung down past her shoulders, resembling spiral macaroni spray-painted bronze.
    â€œMorning, honey,” she replied with a toothy smile. Like a cardinal, she flitted around the table and pecked the top of his head, her robe swooshing about her.
    For as long as he could remember, Wedge had always called his mother Sally. According to her, the terms mom, mother, and ma made her feel like an old lady. “Something I hope I never am,” she said frequently.
    â€œDoes that mean you plan on dying young?” Wedge had asked once when he was in a temperamental mood and his mother’s indignation at being called what she naturally was annoyed him. He even fleetingly pondered the possibility that she wasn’t his mother, but quickly dismissed the thought.
    â€œNo,” she had answered, “it just means that I plan on staying young in spirit until I’m at least one hundred.”
    â€œPlease spare me the sight of seeing you in a bikini when you’re over fifty, okay, Sally?” Wedge had said sarcastically, anger rising deep within him. But then, in a matter of minutes the anger had disappeared and he’d found himself surrounded by Sally’s arms. Laughing. After all—until King and Andrew came along—they were all each other had. And, comparatively, Wedge had liked it that way.
    Wedge’s empty stomach growled during grace. The noise was so loud that it took King and Andrew by surprise; Sally was used to it.
    â€œHow did you do that?” Andrew asked, pointing to Wedge’s stomach and sniffling.
    â€œDidn’t your father ever tell you it was rude to point?” Wedge said, ignoring Andrew’s question and pouring a large amount of maple syrup on his pancakes in a circular motion. His stomach growled again. “Excuse me,” Wedge said, sneering at Andrew.
    The teakettle whistled. Sally fixed herself a cup of almond tea (without sugar) and sat down at the table next to King. Besides the tea, all Sally had for breakfast was half a grapefruit. She wasn’t even slightly overweight (more like downright skinny)—but she watched her diet carefully, keeping track of her daily calorie intake. “I’m so fat,” she’d often say as she looked in the bathroom mirror or passed a storefront window.
    In Wedge’s opinion, Sally’s concern with her weight was like Rapunzel complaining that her hair was too short. Enough to drive you nuts. But she rarely commented on his own weight or monitored his food drastically, which he appreciated.
    Sally sighed loudly, getting everyone’s attention. She drew in another long breath and gently pushed her teacup away from herself. “I came up