Friends

Caroline and Simon were friends. They were the best of friends, and they endured hardships together, such as the Great Twinkie Shortage of 2009, and the Summer of Eating Healthy. It was during their weekly Scrabble game in the local park that Simon announced that he would be turning eight the next day.
"Are you, really?" exclaimed Caroline, playing CONIFER for 87 points.
"I am, indeed!" smiled Simon, who then countered Caroline's pine tree with ESCARGOT for 88 points.
"That's old," said Caroline, tallying up their points.
"Oh my," said Simon, twisting his top hat nervously, "We seem to have tied."
"I like ties best," said Caroline, who wrote down their scores in her little blue book where she kept a record of their fifty-three games of Scrabble with fifty-two draws and one crossed-out game that they did not refer to, ever.
"Are we going to have a party?" she asked, demurely.
Simon nodded gravely. "Of course, and we're invited. We must be sure to give ourselves presents that we would like."
"Aunt Marigold always gives books that we've read," said Caroline, "Last year, she gave me Oliver Twist, and asked me whether I could identify. I think I rather feel more like Holden Caulfield."
"Last year, she bought me a piano, eventhough I already have two." said Simon.
"Presents are so annoying," said Caroline.
Simon packed up the Scrabble set, and opened the car door for Caroline.
"Oh, thank you," said Caroline.
Simon drove back to the house, making a careful turn around the gate and parking neatly in the lot.

"That was a splendid game," said Caroline, "I wish everyday was like today."
"Would you like a little refreshment? I have some cucumber sandwiches prepared."
"Oh, marvelous!" cried Caroline, "I just happen to have a fine bottle of strawberry wine with me here, too! We must have a picnic."
"By the poolside!" agreed Simon, enthusiastically.
The chlorinated water rippled attractively as they sat beneath their striped umbrella munching their tea.
"Have you heard of the murders downtown? It's dreadful business," said Simon.
"Oh my, yes, a family of four, and their children so young!" sighed Caroline, "Have they found the dastardly criminal yet?"
"No, they haven't, which makes it all the more worrisome. But enough about gloom and despair!" He raised his glass with his pudgy hand. "To Nine Years of Life!"
Caroline toasted him, and took a sip. She giggled and leaned in closer to Simon.

"Let's play a game," she said.
"What game?" asked Simon. The wine was beginning to tell, and he felt pleasantly light-headed.
"Tag, you're it!" squealed Caroline as she pushed Simon off his deckchair and rushed into the house.
Simon giggled violently as his cane and top hat were left forgotten on the floor.
Inside the house was silent. Simon's shoes squeaked on the shiny floor. He heard a muffled giggle coming from the dining room. He peeked 'round the door and spied a whirl of ribbons and lace.
"I see you!" Simon gave chase.
A chair toppled, and the Persian rugs were rumpled. Caroline had a nasty bruise on her elbow where she had bumped it against the potted orchids, and Simon's shirt had come untucked. The pool had turned a mild pink where the wine and spilled, and one of Monet's had fallen off the wall.
The front door opened.
"Simon! Caroline!" said his mother, aghast, "The house is a mess! I thought you knew better than this!" She took off her gloves and sat. "I'll have to call the cleaners! Everyone will know! We'll be the laughing stock of the neighbourhood!"
Caroline and Simon stood there with their heads bowed and silent, listening to their mother murmur portents of doom and punishment and ruined reputations.
Caroline nudged Simon. "That was worth it," she mouthed.
Simon smiled.