Shawn Spencer leaned carefully back in his chair, his legs carefully propped up on the desk. His head was tilted as far back as possible without toppling over his comfy chair. He crossed his eyes and watched the yellow sliver teeter precariously on the bridge of his nose. He spread out his arms as if he were flying and began to hum.

“Shawn!”

The sudden bellow of his best friend sent Shawn careening backwards. His chair rolled out from under him, his feet sailed over his head, and his perfectly balanced pencil flew backwards. Shawn grunted as he landed on his back, his yellow pencil landing with a tiny thump beside his head. He stared straight up at the ceiling with a blank expression until Gus’s head appeared in his field of vision.

“Shawn, you okay?” Gus asked without the least bit of concern.

“Gus, do you know what the world record is for balancing a pencil on your nose?” Shawn asked in a flat voice.

“No.” Gus said.

“It’s fourteen hours, twenty-eight minutes, and thirteen seconds.” Shawn said.

“Were you trying to beat it?” Gus asked incredulously, “How long had you been balancing it?”

“Two minutes.” Shawn said.

Gus rolled his eyes and straightened. He started sifting through the letters he’d retrieved from the mail. Shawn raised his arm straight in the air.

“I only had fourteen hours, twenty-six minutes, and ten seconds left.” He said loudly.

Gus shook his head. Shawn sprang to his feet and pulled back his chair. Gus picked out a white envelope and opened it quickly. As he read the paper inside, a deep scowl masked his face.

“Shawn look at this!” He shouted.

“What? Is it that Tupperware catalog you’ve been waiting for?” Shawn asked without looking.

Gus gave his friend an indignant look, “No. It’s our bank statement.”

“Ooh.” Shawn said slumping into his chair, “How much money do we have? Did we get a bonus for being such good customers? Is it big?”

“It isn’t a bonus, Shawn.” Gus said, growing irritated. “Our account is near being over drawn.”

“What‘s that mean? Did their artists do a bad job?” Shawn asked. He picked up a pencil and moved it rapidly up and down, “Hey, look Gus. It’s a rubber pencil.”

“Shawn.” Gus said, snatching the pencil, “Focus. We are spending too much. Our account is at two hundred dollars.”

“What’s your point?” Shawn asked finding yet another pencil in the litter on his desk.

“My point,” Gus said enunciating every word, “Is that you’ve been spending way too much. We don‘t need all of these things, so stop buying them.”

“So let me get this straight,” Shawn pointed at Gus with his pencil as he spoke, “You want me to stop spending the money that we earned from cases on silly things like bean bag chairs and smoothies and start watching the budget.”

“Yes.” Gus said swiping the pencil from Shawn’s hand.

“Okay.” Shawn said.

Gus raised his eyebrows in confusion, “That’s it? You’re going to stop?”

“Yep.” Shawn said opening the desk drawer and pulling out not one, but two pencils.

“You aren’t going to argue or goof off about this?” Gus asked.

“Nope.” Shawn said intently examining his pencils.

Gus smiled, “Wow, I’m impressed. Thanks, Shawn.”

“No problem.” Shawn said and then promptly put both pencils under his upper lip like two fangs.

Gus’s smile faded and he glared at his friend. Shawn looked at him innocently and cocked his head to the side.

In a muffled voice, he said, “It’s still green. They headed north two hours ago.”

“Shawn. Stop quoting Ice Age.” Gus said pulling out the pencils and tossing them onto the desk with a disgusted grimace.

Shawn watched the pencils roll onto the floor. He looked back at Gus and smirked. He reached behind his back and pulled out another pencil.

“Where are you getting all of these pencils?” Gus asked.

Shawn looked up. Gus followed his gaze and let his shoulders slump.

“That’s great, Shawn.” He said.

He watched as a pencil fell from the dozens lodged in the ceiling and landed in front of his shoes.

“Just great.”

“Excuse me?”

Shawn turned his head. He tapped his pencil against his hand as he looked at the young girl standing in his door way. He guessed her age to be around nineteen. Her hair color was natural brunette unlike most girls these days and her eyes were a hazel green. She wasn’t concerned much with fashion. Her jeans were old and frayed and her t-shirt was stained with paint and coffee. She didn’t wear much make-up and her hair was pulled back with a barrette. She looked like a normal teenager, but as Shawn knew all too well, looks could be deceiving.

“Can we help you miss?” Gus asked.

Shawn rolled his eyes. His partner always had to so polite, such a stuck up.

“I’m here to hire you.” She said.

Gus smiled, “I’m sorry, miss, but we can’t help minors. If you have a problem maybe you should go to the police.”

“Gus, stop being a crummy snicker doodle.” Shawn said, “Of course we can help her. It’s what we do.”

“She can’t be more than sixteen.” Gus protested.

“Nineteen.” Shawn and the girl said in unison.

The girl knitted her eyebrows together, “How did you know that?”

“I’m psychic.” Shawn said, obviously.

He looked behind the girl at the reflection in the window. On the back of the girls stained and painted t-shirt which was a state playoffs shirt for wrestling were notes scribbled in permanent marker. In the reflection he could see clearly the name the notes were addressed to. He smiled up at the girl.

“Now, how can we help you Mychal?” Shawn asked.

Gus snorted, “Mychal. That’s a guy’s name, Shawn.”

“Actually, it’s a girl’s name too.” Mychal said indignantly, “In the Bible, one of David’s wives is named Mical. It’s just spelled different than mine.”

Shawn smirked at Gus. Gus resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at his friend.

“So.” Shawn said, “What can we do for you?”

“Shouldn’t you already know?” Mychal asked, “You are psychic.”

“I can only get certain things, vibes if you will. I don’t know everything and I don’t think I like your tone, young lady.” Shawn said quickly.

“Sorry.” Mychal apologized with little enthusiasm. “I need you to find someone for me.”

“And who would that be?” Gus asked.

“My brother.” Mychal said.

“Do you know where he last was?” Shawn asked.

Mychal shrugged, “Somewhere in the Santa Barbara area.”

“Well, that’s helpful.” Shawn said, “Does he have any friends that might know where he is?”

“I don’t know his friends. I don’t even know if he has friends.” Mychal admitted.

Shawn and Gus shared a look. Gus turned back to Mychal.

“Do you know anything about him?” He asked.

Mychal shook her head, “I don’t know much. I know he likes pineapple.”

“That narrows it down.” Shawn said, “Do you have a picture? Maybe I can get a vibe off of it.”

Mychal shook her head, “I don’t know what he looks like.”

“Say what?” Gus asked.

“What do you mean?” Shawn asked, his curiosity instantly peaked.

Mychal gave a small smile, “I’ve never actually met my brother.”

Shawn crossed his arms, “Well, I guess that cuts down on sibling rivalry.”

Gus glared at Shawn. Shawn shrugged at his partner with an innocent look. At that moment, another pencil fell from the ceiling and hit Gus in the head. It took all Gus had not to reach across the desk and strangle his best friend. It took all Shawn had not to laugh out loud. He did let himself chuckle which earned him a pencil torpedo destined for his head.