“Hey!  Who ate the last piece of hamburger onion pie?” Shannon shouted into the bowels of the refrigerator. She turned, slamming the refrigerator door, and bumped into Damon, who was holding the metal pie plate in his right hand. It was dotted with crumbs and held a fork and a crumpled ball of plastic wrap.

“Da-amon.  You said I could have the last piece.”

Damon burped deliberately, and then grinned.

“You stupid jerk!”  Shannon shoved against him.

He laughed.  “Better luck next time, shrimp.  And remember it’s your turn to do the dishes.”  He clunked the pie plate into the sink, and left the room smiling.

“Oh, and what am I supposed to have for lunch, you big . . . big . . . moron?”

“Look around, maybe you’ll find something,” he called from the stairs.

Shannon flopped at the kitchen table.  Stupid, stupid Damon.  He knew she wanted that pie.  She put her head down on the glass top, and forced out the tears that had gathered in her eyes.  They plopped onto the table making three tiny round puddles.  She ran her finger through them, drawing with the wetness on the glass, crookedly because her head was sideways on the table.

“You ok down there?”

“Yeah, fine.”  Shannon got up quickly and wiped her finger on her jeans. Stupid Damon.  She wasn’t hungry anymore, but she opened cupboards, pretending to look for lunch.  The ones over the sink didn’t have anything interesting.  Then, for no reason, she checked the microwave.

It wasn’t empty.

On a plate on the merry-go-round was the slice of pie, still cold.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”  She banged the microwave door.  It bounced back, scratching her forehead.

“Stupid Damon.” Now Shannon was crying for real.