The title says it all.... i wrote this a looong time ago but recentlt remastered it.... i did the first version in school and had to use certain words [spelling class, lol]. My friend and i read it over the phone and we laughed so hard...... Smalls doesn't have a freezer, lol..... and it's Whit, ot Bleston,... but a long time ago i never read ember rising and i somehow thought Small's brother was named Bleston.... lol.... So:

Bleston and the Brownie [first version, that sprta embarrasses me]

I raced to the kitchen ahead of Bleston [whit] and over to the freezer. I opened it and grabbed a popsicle. Bleston grabbed a brownie.

"This brownie is my Master!" Bleston yelled. as we left the kitchen i knocked over the expensive silver platter. i knew dad would be mad....

'Smalls has nooo freezer!!!!'

i kinda lost the story so i went from memory..... lol....

Whit and the brownie [remastered version]

Dad said we could have a snack while we did our homework. Or he said at least Whit and I could. Winslow was being disrespectful and our other siblings were finished already. Whit was sitting cross-legged on the couch, doing his sixth-grade math homework. Winslow was grouching at the kitchen table. He was supposed to be writing a summery for his eighth grade writing class. And i was lying on the floor, organizing ridiculous spelling words.

“Well, Smalls. I’m getting a brownie.” Whit said, putting his math book and paper on a stool.

“I want a popsicle.” I said. Mom had made popsicles, one for Whit and one for me. “Before mine melts.”

“Mine will live for a few hours.” Whit said.

“You want to eat soup?” I asked. We walked to the table where Winslow was sulking.

“Quiet down.” Winslow hollered, throwing his pencil. I leaned over his shoulder and read aloud.

“The art of treason by-“ I began, but Whit cut me off.

“C’mon Smalls. Lets leave Winslow the great to sulk.” He said.

“Okay.” That was fine with me. Let Winslow sulk around on a fine fall day like today.

“Brownies are deliciose.” Whit said, pulling the covered platter from the cupboard.

“But so are popsicles.” I said, opening the clay pot filled with ice and drawing out my popsicle.

“Ahh. But I have a soft spot for chocolate.” Whit said. That was true. If someone baked brownies, they were gone in two seconds.

“Yahh.” I yelled. Something had snuck up to steal my popsicle. I watched Winslow slip away with my treat.

“Stop that Win!” Whit yelled. Winslow was back to his seat already, though. I glowered and started running.

My shoulder snagged the tray of brownies. The expensive tray fell to the floor and shattered, swewing shards and minuture gems across the floor.

“Smalden. Whitbie. What’ve you done?” Winslow asked. I raced into the living room just as a brownie smacked Winslow on the head. I punched Winslow and snatched the summery.

not my best work, but at least Smalls doesn't have a freezer!!!

half of this is not acurate story wise

-Fleck