LeFou made his way through the village towards Gaston's house. He hadn't seen Gaston in several days, and wondered where he'd been. Probably off on some exciting adventure. LeFou looked forward to hearing about it. And maybe Gaston would tell him about it first, before anyone else got to hear the story.

Up until recently, LeFou had been almost as much of an outcast as Benoit. But unlike the bookish boy, LeFou wanted desperately to fit in, and always tried to tag along, despite his lack of success. Sometimes the boys bullied him, or made fun of him for being so short and weak and clumsy; more often they told him to get lost, or simply ignored him.

But it didn't faze him. It was no worse than what he faced at home, after all. His mother had died giving birth to him. His father, heartbroken and bitter, had turned to drink, and made no effort to conceal his belief that LeFou was responsible for his mother's death. "She lost her life just so you could have yours," his father would say bitterly, and it was clear that he didn't think it was a fair trade. When he was drunk, which was often, he would go on and on about it: "A beautiful, vibrant, loving wife lost forever, and in exchange, a clumsy, useless, scrawny runt of a boy who'll never amount to anything," he would say scathingly.

That was when he was drunk. The rest of the time, he simply ignored his son as though he didn't exist. LeFou wasn't sure which was worse. He had often tried to appease his father, to be as helpful and obedient as possible, but his father scorned his efforts, always finding fault and telling him he couldn't do anything right. He wanted nothing to do with his son. The only thing LeFou could do for him was to stay out of his sight.

So LeFou continued trying to tag along with the rest of the boys. It was better than going home. He would sit on the sidelines and watch them playing, wrestling or climbing trees or racing or throwing a ball, and invariably, his gaze would turn to Gaston. Gaston, who was everything he wasn't: tall, strong, graceful, confident, able to do anything effortlessly. Gaston was simply the best, and everyone admired him.

LeFou wished he could be like Gaston. If he were, then surely his father would be glad to have him. Gaston's father certainly was glad, bragging proudly about his son at every opportunity. And with good reason. Gaston was going to grow up and accomplish great things, maybe even be a hero. Not like LeFou, who would never do anything good at all.

One day, LeFou was cutting across the tree-dotted meadow on his way home when he saw Gaston practicing archery. It was unusual to see Gaston alone; he was usually surrounded by friends and admirers. He had a bag of targets he had made himself – small round wooden circles only a few inches in diameter that he had painted red. He had nailed them loosely to various trees around the meadow, and was now practicing shooting arrows at them.

LeFou sat down on a rock to watch. Gaston took aim at the farthest tree, so far away that the target appeared as a mere red dot. He pulled back on the arrow, then released it. The arrow sailed gracefully through the air and unerringly hit the target, as though drawn there by an invisible string.

"Wow!" LeFou burst out in admiration. "That was amazing!"

Gaston turned to look at him, and LeFou was afraid he'd be angry at the interruption. LeFou had never actually dared to speak directly to Gaston before. But Gaston just grinned and said, "I know."

Emboldened, LeFou went on. "Everything you do is amazing! Like that time everyone was seeing how strong they were, and you picked up that huge boulder – that was incredible. I bet you're even stronger than a grown man, and you're just a kid! And the other day, when the guys were playing ball, and Claude threw that totally wild throw from so far away. I thought it was going to fall in the lake. But you just ran so fast, even faster than the ball was flying! And you grabbed it right out of the air before it hit the water. I've never seen anything like it!"

LeFou suddenly broke off. To his astonishment, while he was talking, Gaston had stopped shooting arrows, walked over and sat down on the rock next to him, and now was listening intently. To him. Gaston had stopped what he was doing to listen to him. LeFou couldn't believe it. He was used to being totally ignored, or told to go away.

"Go on," Gaston said, his blue eyes attentively on LeFou. "What else?"

LeFou went on, describing with admiration all the amazing feats of Gaston's that he had witnessed. And Gaston, his hero, sat there listening, all his attention focused on him.

Then Gaston asked, "So what do you do – just watch me all the time?"

LeFou reddened. He must sound so pathetic, like such a loser. "Well…kind of," he admitted. "I mean, it's not like there's that much exciting to look at in this town, you know? And everything you do is so incredible – it's just fun to see what you'll do next. Like that time Pierre bet you that you couldn't shoot the highest apple off that tall tree. But you did it, like it was so easy."

"Oh, that was nothing," said Gaston. "The apple was just sitting there. Once when I was hunting with my father, I shot a rabbit from much farther away than that, and it was running, really fast like a streak of white light. But I got it."

"Wow," said LeFou, impressed. "What else did you do?"

Gaston loved nothing better than talking about himself. He sat there all afternoon, bragging to LeFou about all his accomplishments, enjoying having an appreciative audience. LeFou was in heaven. His hero was actually sitting and talking to him, like they were actual friends. It was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him in his whole life.

Then Gaston looked up at the setting sun. "Well, I'd better be getting home," he said. "It's almost dinnertime."

"Oh," said LeFou, disappointed. He didn't want the afternoon to end. For a little while, basking in Gaston's presence had made him feel special. Now Gaston would go back to ignoring him again.

Gaston was taking down all his targets and putting them in his bag. "Can I help?" LeFou asked. Immediately he cursed himself for his stupidity. What possible help could the great Gaston need from a worthless nobody like LeFou?

But to his surprise, Gaston said "Sure," and tossed the bag to him. LeFou held it while Gaston climbed up and removed the targets, then tossed them into the bag.

When all the targets were put away, LeFou was about to give the bag back. But Gaston said, "You can carry it home for me if you want."

LeFou was thrilled. He followed Gaston home, holding the bag, bursting with pride that he was actually able to do something for his idol.

When they reached Gaston's home, Gaston took the bag back. "Thanks," he said. "See you tomorrow."

LeFou's jaw dropped open. "Sure, see you tomorrow," he managed to say.

Since then, LeFou had followed Gaston around like a shadow, doing everything he could for him. It made him feel special and worthwhile for the first time in his life. He knew that he himself would never do anything amazing. But Gaston did amazing things every day, and helping him made LeFou feel as though he had a share, however small, in Gaston's success. In his mind, he wasn't a nobody anymore – he was Gaston's helper, maybe even friend, and what could be better than that?

Best of all, LeFou was now part of the group. Not a word had been spoken about his changed status; no announcement had been made. The next day, he and Gaston had simply arrived together at the lake where the boys were waiting, LeFou carrying Gaston's fishing tackle. As soon as the boys saw that Gaston had accepted him, they accepted him too. In an instant, he was one of the group, as though he had always belonged. No one ever bullied or made fun of him again. In fact, they actually seemed to respect him now; being Gaston's chosen sidekick conferred upon him instant status. For that alone, LeFou would always be grateful to Gaston.

Now, as he approached the house, he saw Gaston's mother sweeping the front porch. "Good morning," she said with a smile on seeing him. "Gaston is in the back with his horse."

"Thank you," LeFou replied, smiling back. Gaston's mother was always kind to him, which was yet another reason he liked spending time at Gaston's house. He headed to the back of the house.

Gaston had taken his colt, Fantộme, out of his stall and was grooming him with a curry brush. The colt was his pride and joy, a present from his father on his last birthday. He had been riding his father's horses all his life, and had helped to break in several. When he turned 11, his father had given him the 2-year-old colt to be his own horse, along with the responsibility of breaking him in all by himself. Gaston was proud of the honor and determined to do a good job.

Fantộme was well-bred, but rambunctious and high-strung, and still skittish around people, although he'd gotten used to Gaston by this point. He was a black colt with white socks and a white star on his forehead.

LeFou looked admiringly at the young horse. "He really is a beauty."

"He sure is," said Gaston proudly.

"Can I help?" LeFou asked.

Gaston considered. He was possessive of his horse, and slightly wary of letting anyone else take care of him, believing no one else would do as good a job as he did. But on the other hand, part of training a horse was getting it used to people. Ultimately, if Gaston did his job well, the horse would be so well-trained and obedient that anyone could ride him.

"All right. Here." He handed LeFou the curry brush, then stepped aside.

LeFou eagerly raised the curry and clumsily tried to brush the colt's cheek with it. Fantộme immediately reared back, whinnying shrilly, then galloped to the other side of the paddock.

"NO! Not like that!" Gaston snapped, striking the brush out of Lefou's hand. He was annoyed - this negative experience could set the sensitive colt's training back. He ran over to the colt, talking softly to him and soothing him down.

He came back, leading the now-calmed horse, and his eye fell on LeFou. For just a split-second, it crossed Gaston's mind to apologize. The kid had meant well, after all.

But LeFou spoke up first. He didn't sound angry, only resigned. "I'm sorry, I know I get things wrong a lot. I hope I didn't mess him up too much. Do you want me to go home?" He should have known he would screw things up, he thought sadly.

Gaston was surprised. "No, why would I? Just do it right this time. Like this: in a circular motion, not up and down. And never brush a horse's face with a curry brush – he's sensitive there. Just brush his back and sides."

LeFou brightened, thrilled to be given a second chance. He took the brush and carefully moved it in circles on the horse's side. "Like that?"

Gaston nodded. "That's better."

Beaming at even this meager praise, LeFou happily groomed the horse. He didn't blame Gaston at all for his bout of temper. Being so perfect himself, it was understandable that he would be impatient with LeFou's clumsiness. LeFou was just glad that Gaston put up with him and didn't feel the need to end the friendship over his mistake.

Although he couldn't articulate it, he was beginning to realize that unlike his father, whose underlying resentment of his son led him to berate him for hours over any mistake, Gaston's anger wasn't personal. Like everything else in his life, it was all about Gaston – his needs, his desires, his convenience. When something went wrong, Gaston's quick temper flared at the inconvenience - but then it was gone just as quickly, as though nothing had happened. So LeFou didn't take it personally.

Meanwhile, Gaston had already forgotten any thought of apology. LeFou clearly thought Gaston's anger was justified, so obviously he'd done nothing wrong. Besides, his father always said apologizing was a sign of weakness.

He strolled over to the porch and sat down, leaning back lazily against a post, watching LeFou groom his horse.

LeFou spoke up. "So, where have you been the last few days? No one's seen you around."

Gaston smiled, relishing the anticipation of bragging about his exploits. He enjoyed talking to LeFou; it was flattering to be around someone who idolized him so much. "I went hunting with my father. And…" He paused for dramatic effect. "I shot a deer, all by myself. It was about 90 yards away, so far even my father couldn't get it! But I lined up the shot, and got him, clean as a whistle."

"Wow!" LeFou was suitably impressed. "That's great!"

"Yep," agreed Gaston smugly. "Pop says he's never heard of anyone so young bagging a deer. He was 16 the first time he got one. He's going to mount the trophy on the wall of the tavern."

He stood up and walked over to LeFou. "But that's not all I did," he said confidentially, a gleam in his eye.

"Tell me!" said LeFou eagerly. He loved hearing Gaston's stories.

"Well," said Gaston, "my father was so proud of me, he brought me to the tavern that night. I got to sit there with all the men, just like one of 'em, drinking ale and everything."

"Wow," LeFou whispered. "What was it like?"

"Oh, it was great," Gaston said. "I drank a whole lot of ale, and I got drunk – it felt like floating, kind of. And the men were all telling dirty jokes and stuff, and there was even a fistfight! And…" He leaned in closer. "You know Desiree? The barmaid?"

LeFou nodded. "I've seen her sometimes."

"Well," Gaston boasted, "she came right up to me, and said I was the best-looking guy she'd ever seen in her whole life! And she wanted to take me upstairs and…you know." He winked conspiratorially.

"No! Really?" LeFou was shocked. "Did you go?" He was fascinated. Gaston seemed to live in a completely different world from his.

"I wanted to," Gaston lied. "But my father wouldn't let me. He said I'm too young. Desiree was really disappointed – she was begging him to let me go with her. But he said when I'm 13, I can. But I did see her tits up close – her blouse was so low, they were practically falling out. And…" He thought quickly. "And I even touched them!" That wasn't true, of course, but it sounded good.

"Gosh," said LeFou, scarcely breathing. "That's incredible! What did they feel like?"

"Wonderful. Really soft," Gaston improvised. He looked at the horse. "Looks like you're done," he said, taking the brush back. He went to get the colt's saddle and bridle.

"I'm going to try riding him into the woods today – I've never ridden him outside the paddock before, but I think he's ready now," Gaston said. As an afterthought, he added, "Do you have a horse? You can come with me if you want."

"No, I don't have a horse," LeFou said quietly.

Gaston was putting the bridle on Fantộme. The colt still resisted the bit, but Gaston spoke gently to him and got it in place. "Oh," he replied, putting the saddle on the colt and cinching the girth. "You should ask your father to get you one."

"Yeah, I should," LeFou said non-committally, although the idea of asking his father for anything, let alone something as expensive as a horse, was laughable.

LeFou had never told Gaston about his home life, for three reasons. First, if the truth be told, he was ashamed of it. Gaston's parents loved him so much, and were so proud of him – how could LeFou admit that his father didn't even want him around? Secondly, being with Gaston was LeFou's escape. When he was with Gaston, he felt like part of Gaston's world, a glamorous and exciting place where anything could happen. When people praised Gaston and exclaimed over his accomplishments, LeFou felt proud of his idol, living vicariously through Gaston's exploits. So when he was with Gaston, the last thing he wanted was a reminder that this wasn't really his life, and that he actually belonged in the run-down cottage with a father who despised him.

The third reason he never told Gaston about his family was the simplest of all: Gaston never asked. Already self-centered, he was perfectly happy with a friendship that revolved entirely around himself. Since LeFou seemed content with it too, it never even occurred to Gaston to wonder what LeFou did when they weren't together.

Gaston mounted the skittish colt, which danced around for a few steps, but with his expert touch, Gaston calmed it. Obediently, the colt quieted and waited for his signal to move. "Well, I'll see you later," Gaston said.

"All right," said LeFou, slightly disappointed. Then he had a thought. "If I see the guys, can I tell them all about what you did? With the deer and the tavern and all?"

Gaston reflected. He knew that LeFou would build him up and make him sound as impressive as possible. Then, when Gaston himself showed up later, the boys would flock around him, asking if it were really true and clamoring to hear the story from his own lips. Much more satisfying than Gaston arriving and having to say, "Hey, guys, listen! Guess what happened to me?"

"Sure," he said, smiling at LeFou. "You tell them everything."

LeFou smiled back, liking the idea. "Okay! I'll see you later!" Gaston waved and guided the horse out of the paddock and toward the forest.

LeFou went looking for the other boys. He saw them climbing trees in the meadow. "Hi, LeFou!" Claude called to him. "Do you know where Gaston is? He hasn't been around the last few days."

LeFou puffed himself up, feeling important. "Yep. I just talked to him. There's a good reason why he wasn't around – he was doing something really exciting!"

The boys looked intrigued. They dropped down from the trees and came over to LeFou. "Tell us," Pierre said. "What's Gaston been up to?"

LeFou smiled and began to tell the story. All the boys' attention on him, listening to what he had to say.

It was almost as good as being Gaston.