"I hope Pete's all right." Micky said as he wiped down the last dish and placed it in a cabinet.
"Yeah, he's been so tired all the time." Davy added.
"Maybe he's been doing too much." Micky said. "Tell you what, from now on I do the cooking and you do the dishes."
"How about I do the cooking." Davy said. "I'm a better cook, you know."
A small arguement started to break out about who was the better cook, until Mike and Peter walked through the door.
"Mike, who's the better cook - me or Davy?" Micky asked.
"Peter!" was Mike's reply, which brought a bright grin to his friend's face.
"Forget that!" Davy said. "How do you feel, Pete?"
"I'm still a little tired, but the doc said that it'll clear up in a few days." Peter smiled.
"Dr. Brown said he has a slight case of anemia. He gave him some medication for it." Mike said.
"Glad to know you're ok, Pete." Micky smiled. After a few days, Peter stood at the sink washing dishes - Micky and Davy's promise forgotten. Things were not going well. Peter was anything but OK.
"Hey, Pete, would you mind putting the milk away? I forgot." Davy asked from where he was fixing a cymbal on his tamborine.
"What's broken?" Peter asked. "Your legs or your arms?"
Davy looked up in surprise.
"I just thought since you were right there..."
"I'm busy!" Peter snapped. "Put it away yourself!"
Davy frowned, got up and put the milk away.
"You ok, Pete?"
Peter was about to come up with a smart reply, when Mike came through the front door, sorting through mail.
"Guys," Mike yelled, "Rehearsal in five minutes. Finish up whatever you're doing."
Peter washed the last dish, and set it aside. He and Davy went to the bandstand, neither one speaking to each other. Davy, however, kept shooting worried glances in Peter's direction. Mike grabbed his guitar, and started tuning it.
"We'll open with the usual - Last Train to Clarksville." Mike said, mostly to himself.
"OK, Mike." Davy said.
"I don't want to." came from Peter.
Mike and Davy looked at him.
"What's that?" Mike asked, tilting his head as if he had not heard Peter correctly.
"I said I don't want to." Peter repeated. "I want to open with Lady's Baby then go into Steppin' Stone."
"Well, Pete, we've always..." Mike said, but was interrupted.
"Listened to you." Peter snapped. "Is that what you were going to say, Michael? Well, maybe I'm through listening!"
"Peter, what's wrong?" Davy asked.
Micky came down the stairs, oblivious to the tense conversation on the band stand, as he searched through the living room.
"Guys, have you seen my comic books? I've been looking all day, and can't find one."
"Your Captain Marvel and Superman comic books?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, Pete, you seen them?" Micky asked.
"They left on the eight-thirty dump truck." Peter smirked.
Everyone's jaw dropped at this bit of news. Micky staggard forward and grabbed onto a chair.
"Not...not my...my collection!" Peter nodded.
"I had collectors additions in there!" Micky yelled. "They would have been worth a lot of money someday!"
"Tough!" Peter shrugged. "Guess from now on you'll learn to clean up after yourself, won't you?"