Read T.J. Klune - Bear, Otter, and the Kid 2 - Who We Are for Free Online

my forehead as big as a garden hose.
    Now, look. Let’s be honest. You know me. You’ve heard the first part of my story. If you don’t and you’re one of those weird people that likes to start a story in the middle, I bid you welcome and good day (but I still think you’re weird). But for those that know me? You know, and I can say this with complete sincerity, that I’m not the smartest person in the world. I’ve often wondered if God decided to pass on giving me brains ’cause he knew he had to save them all for my maniacal little brother. I can admit it freely. I can be a little dumb sometimes, (okay, okay: a lot of the time. Whatever). So of course I believed in Dr. Edmund Paddington-Kingsleyshire and his obviously tenured relationship with the impressive sounding University of British Hair Studies. Of course I believed it, because it was on Wikipedia. It looked so official! How was I to know that Wikipedia was full of lies? Why would you let people write whatever they want for an encyclopedia ?
    It wasn’t till Otter found me minutes later hiding in the pantry in our new kitchen (it seemed to be the only place to escape Wikipedia) under the guise of reading the ingredients to a can of peaches (had to look like I had a reason to be in there), that I realized that maybe the Internet could be a liar. Ingredients: water… sugar… peaches. Simple enough. But I’d read it at least five hundred times by the time he opened the pantry door and came in with me, shutting the door behind him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, the laughter in his voice evident. “Reading about peaches.” I glared at him. It should have been obvious. The “duh” at the end of my sentence was, of course, implied.
    “Why are you reading about peaches?” He cocked his head to the side. “They’re interesting,” I retorted.
“Huh. You know, when people ask why we’re together, I tell them about stuff like this and they look at me weird.”
     
I snorted. “Please,” I scoffed. “This is me keeping the magic alive.” He chuckled and took the peaches from my hand and put them back on the shelf. “Bear, do you know what Wikipedia is?” he asked me gently. “An asshole,” I hissed.
     
Then he told me what Wikipedia was. And how he knew the Kid had a
    Wikipedia account. And how I probably shouldn’t have ruined his shirt. Psychological warfare.
That little bastard.
    R
OUND 3: I went online and bought my own shirt and had it rush delivered. It was awesome. Puppies, the OTHER white meat. He pointed out to me that I had accidentally put it on backward in my rush to show him. I had wondered why my neck was itchy. Winner: the Kid.
    Round 4: Tyson came inside from playing and told me he’d been asked out on a date by a boy who lived down the street, and he was thinking about going. I had a heart attack and a stroke and seriously flirted with incontinence. Winner: the Kid.
    Round 5: Telling him I felt bad about the puppy-shirt thing, I told him we could go pick out a dog at the pound now that we had a yard for it. Instead, I took him to the dentist. Winner: Bear “Rock Star” McKenna.
    Halftime: Otter took a white undershirt of his and wrote on it with a black marker: I think you’re both stupid and wore it around the house (which in of itself is not all that funny, except that I’d found his first attempt at writing the shirt in the trash can, and he’d initially written “your” instead of “you’re”) . The Kid and I agreed that he was the stupid one. Winners: the Kid and me (because Otter’s not funny at all).
    Round 6: Okay, I’ll admit, by round six, I was running out of ideas. It didn’t help that there was so much more on my mind. Fuck, we had court to worry about, stupid custody hearings, whether or not the Kid was going to skip to the fifth grade or not. As much as I felt the Kid deserved whatever he got for the whole hair-loss incident, I just couldn’t do it anymore. So, being the better person (and