Dear George, apparently story time is a lame thing that no one does. Peter “politely” told Breton and I that we were losers, while Dallas hung up on me when I said story time. So I’m sitting on the Joel’s living room couch while Breton makes snacks. Popcorn and I think he mentioned chocolate, lemonade for me and soda for him.
I’m excited to learn more about Breton’s childhood. It’s only fair, since he knows more about me than I do about him. I mean, he read you! I write all my childhood stories in here.
Well, the funny ones anyway.
“Georgie, do you want lemonade, or pink lemonade?” Breton called from the kitchen.
“Ooh, pink lemonade please,” I called back.
I heard rummaging, the refrigerator closing, and footsteps coming near.
“The popcorn will be done in about a minute,” Breton said, tossing me a can of pink lemonade. I caught it deftly as he continued, “I’m just going to go watch it so I can grab it while it’s hot.”
“‘Kay,” I replied. “I’ll just be here, salivating.” We exchanged smiles, then the microwave timer went off and Breton had to grab the popcorn.
“Hey, how do you feel about Hershey’s Kisses?” he asked, coming back out with a bowl of popcorn in one hand and a bag of Hershey’s in the other.
“Yummy,” I answered, reaching up and taking the bag out of his hand as he sat down.
“Okay, now that we have snacks, start talking,” I ordered, unwrapping a Kiss and popping it my mouth.
“Why do I have to start the conversation?” Breton asked. “I want to hear the whole bookshelf story.”
“Too bad. You go first.”
“Alright. Okay, give me a chance to remember.” He shifted into a thoughtful pose. I stared at his profile. Then I poked his face.
“Look, I don’t even care if it’s a made up story at this point. Just tell me a story,” I whined.
“Okay fine!” he laughed. “I’ve got a good one.”
I snuggled against his side, leaning my head on his shoulder and waiting for him to continue.
“Georgie?” he asked quietly.
“Hm?”
“What are you doing?”
I frowned. “What are you doing? I thought you were going to tell me a story!” I lifted my head, but he quickly guided it back down to his shoulder.
“Right, yeah, story. Just curious, do you always listen to stories like this?” He seemed a little flustered for some reason.
“Well, sometimes. I did when I was little. Now I just want to cuddle.” Suddenly it occurred to me that he might not be comfortable with the breach of his personal space. “Sorry. I can move. I guess I just didn’t think…”
“Nah, you’re fine,” he told me, relaxing his body before I could move. “Okay, so once upon a time, Peter and I were playing in his backyard. You probably didn’t see his yard when you were at his house, but it’s pretty big. Anyway, we would play out there a lot.”
I already knew about the yard, because Peter had told me, but I didn’t say anything.
“One day, we were playing cowboys and Indians. We were only eight, and I didn’t know what cowboys and Indians had to do with the game, because I didn’t really care. I don’t think Peter had any idea either, except that it sounded cool. The way Peter and I played it, they didn’t have anything to do with the game actually, aside from one of us was called a cowboy and the other one was an Indian. Anyway, we were playing it in autumn. Peter, the cowboy, had a big pile of leaves raked up and he called it a pile of cash. I had to give him any cash I found, and add it to the pile. Every time I added a leaf to the pile with my hands, I got two leaves for my own pile. When I added a leaf with my feet, I got three leaves. Soon, his yard was empty of leaves, except for our two piles, his large and mine still pretty small.
“Well, since Peter had said the leaves were cash, I got pretty upset. Especially when Peter declared that since he had more cash than me, he got to have my pile too. So we raked them together, and then he told me to hide as he went inside the house. He came out with his mom and showed her the yard and said, ‘Mom, I did it! I raked the leaves all by myself.’ She congratulated him, and told him that he could have his reward as soon as the leaves were bagged, since he had done such a good job with his chores. She went back inside, and Peter called me out. ‘Breton, this cash has to go in bags,’ he announced. The little rat thought I didn't know what he was doing. So we bagged them up, and then went back inside to get his treat. I came out of my hiding place for the second time, ready to get my revenge.
“With an Indian war cry, I leaped into the pile of bags, ripping them apart. I began throwing the leaves up into the air and all across the grass. Kicking them and tossing them and playing with them. I spent minutes ripping up some leaves into tiny pieces, hard to rake, and then gathered handfuls and ran across the yard sprinkling them in any places I might have missed. When I was done, I ran up to the house and knocked on the door.
“Pete’s mom answered, and I asked all quickly like I was out of breath if Peter was home. She said yes, that he was eating some cake, and that she’d call him. A minute later, Peter ran into the hall, and his mom was behind him, worried I guess. I said to them, ‘Peter, the wind’s blown all your leaves around! We gotta get your chores done quick so that you can play!’ They both ran to the back window and I followed them, smiling so big that my cheeks hurt.
“‘Peter!’ Aunt Cassie said, ‘You should’ve bagged up those leaves when I told you to!’ Poor Pete argued that he did, and I even helped him. Aunt Cassie got a look in her eyes. ‘I told you to do it yourself,’ she said. ‘Get back out there and do it again! Now Breton, would you like some cake? I was just about to cut a slice for Peter, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing.’
“Oh, Peter minded! He didn’t speak to me for a day. But Peter was out in the yard raking leaves for the whole afternoon while I sat in the kitchen and ate his cake, so I didn’t really care.” Breton looked so satisfied with himself, like that was still one of his latest accomplishments, getting Peter in trouble that day.
I laughed. “That’s great! Leaves!” I laughed so hard I lost my balance, my head slipping off his shoulder and leading me into a fall off the couch. Breton grinned.
“It was one of my best moments,” he said modestly, helping me back up.
“Do you and Peter still rake the leaves in his backyard?” I asked, sitting back down next to him.
“Yeah,” Breton said with a laugh, “and we still get cake for doing a good job.”
At that moment, I decided to move down the list a few items. Bring Out His Inner Child.
“Aaaannnnnnndd, it’s Random Question Time!” I suddenly shouted in my best announcer voice. “What’s your favorite color?
“What?” Breton asked.
“I’m asking the questions here. What’s your favorite color?” I demanded.
“Uh… pink, I guess?” he answered, confused.
“Ooh, why pink? Not that it’s not a great color, but I just don’t like how light it is. I prefer green. Although my absolute favorite color is light green, so I guess I can’t judge.”
“I like it because of what it means. It symbolizes love and tenderness, romance and care. It’s a calming color. It’s my mom’s favorite color, and she kind of passed it on.” Breton looked at me for a minute as though he was challenging me to make fun of him. Then he relaxed his expression, obviously realizing who he was taking to.
“Did you know,” I began, “that the color pink used to be a more masculine color? Because it is derived from red, and because it's a more passionate color. Blue, on the other hand, was considered feminine because it is dainty, and also because the Virgin Mary appeared dressed primarily in blue. Somehow, over the years, females obviously came to be seen as the stronger and more passionate gender, which is why our associated color is pink now. Of course, I still like green best.”
“Green’s a good color,” Breton agreed.
“Really? I just taught you a history lesson about colors, and you comment on green?”
“I don’t know how to respond to that,” he said.
“Well, I’ve got another question anyway, so you’re off the hook for now. What’s your favorite childhood movie?” I questioned.
“Bambi,” he replied instantly.
“Bambi? But it’s so sad! His mom dies in the first ten minutes of the movie!” I cried.
“But Thumper is the coolest rabbit ever. And Bambi learning to walk and talk is adorable. Not to mention I just really like talking animals in movies.”
“Aww, the bad boy has a soft side,” I cooed, much to Breton’s annoyance.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll show you soft side,” he growled, grabbing me around the waist and lifting me off the couch as he stood. And then he dropped me! I landed on the couch with a bounce as my scream caught in my throat.
“Breton!” I half-shouted, half-laughed. “I thought I was going to die!”
“There was always that possibility,” he teased. “You could have bounced off the couch and hit your head on the coffee table, smashing your skull in and crushing your brain. Or you could have bled out, due to my lack of healing abilities. Who knows what could have happened?”
I made a face. “You have some very gruesome thoughts there, buddy. You might want to get that checked out.”
He grinned evilly at me. “I’m not sure I do, though.”
“I want the soft side back, I want nice Breton back!” I cried, jumping up off the couch and running over the TV and shelves next to it. I frantically searched through DVDs and VHS tapes before I found it. Bambi. I dropped to my knees in front of the video and DVD player, inserted the movie and pressed play. Running over to Breton and grabbing his hand, I simultaneously grabbed the remote and turned on the television, then pulled Breton over to the couch so he was standing in front of it. Then I climbed on the coffee table and pushed down on his shoulders, repeatedly commanding him to sit.
“Why. Won’t. You. Sit?” I huffed. Just before giving up I did the only thing I could think of in this situation that might make him sit. I jumped.
My arms locked onto his shoulders and my legs went around his waist and my head collided with his chin, and I’m pretty sure there were now multiple bruises on my body, but I surprised Breton and he sat.
“Yes! Hahaha haha, finally! You sat!” I screamed. “I win!”
“My chin hurts,” Breton said.
“I got you to sit! I bet you didn’t expect that, did you? In your face!”
“You jumped on me, literally,” Breton said.
“You’re sitting, you’re finally sitting! Mission accomplished, good job team!” I gave myself a high-five, feeling ecstatic.
“I’m never going to stand up ever again,” Breton said.
“I am the champion, my friends!” I sang. “And I’ll keep on fighting, ’til the e-end!”
“Ouch,” Breton said.
Then he pushed me off his lap.
“Ouch,” I said.
Once we had both apologized, laughed it off, and then gotten our craziness under control, we sat and watched Bambi. When the movie ended, I called my mom and told her I was staying at the Joel’s for dinner, which was fine with her because she didn’t want to make anything for me to eat. As for Breton’s parents, they weren’t actually going to be home, so Breton put a frozen pizza in the oven to cook.
“What movie are we watching next?” I asked, sitting at the table as he put the pizza in.
“Hunchback of Notre Dame,” he answered. “It’s my second favorite movie.”
“It’s been forever since I’ve seen that,” I remarked. “It’s a good one though.”
“My favorite character is Phoebus,” Breton told me, joining me at the table.
“I like the gargoyles,” I replied, staring at him thoughtfully.
“What?” he asked.
“The gargoyles,” I repeated. “They’re my favorite. I like how they encourage Quasimodo, but they’ve also got a tough love thing. And they know when to stay silent, and when he needs encouragement. Also, they’re funny.” I shrugged. What’s not to like about cartoon gargoyles, am I right?
“No,” he said. “I meant, what do you need?”
Confused, I told him, “Nothing.”
“Why where you staring at me then?”
“I just was wondering something.” I looked at him.
“Okay,” I said eventually. “I’ll ask. Why’s Phoebus your favorite character?”
“He’s just a genuinely good guy. In the beginning he helps Esmeralda, and wants to help Quasimodo. When he’s under Frollo’s command he does a few things that he shouldn’t be proud of, but he got out when it came to killing innocent people. He stood up to Frollo for the right reasons, nearly died, and then did it again with the help of Quasi,” he explained. While he spoke, I noticed his wistful expression.
I figured he could probably relate to Phoebus. He had been working for Peter’s dad, unknowingly doing things that were not good. When he found out, he quit. However, I couldn’t make sense of his wistful expression.
“You know,” I said, “you remind me a lot of Phoebus.”
“Thanks Georgie,” Breton said softly. “You remind me of the gargoyles.”
“How so?”
“You always know the right thing to say.” He smiled. I blushed.
“Oh shut up,” I said playfully.
“I know, I know. ‘No chick flick moments’,” he teased.
I gasped. “You do watch Supernatural!”
~~
This chapter is so cute, and 100% Georgie/Breton, so I hope all you Georgie/Peter shippers at least have conflicted feelings after this. (Not that you don't have reason to ship Georgie/Peter...)
I was completely caught off guard when uploading this, because apparently Wattpad finally edited the "My Works" section. I need to do some more exploring.
But first I have to go help my mom make chicken enchiladas! While I'm cooking, I hope you'll be voting, commenting, and spreading the word about this chapter!
Love ya beauties!