Gregory's hand gripped his mother's tightly as she led him up to the front doors of the building named Yardale. It towered over him, all old brick with small windows, and he experienced vertigo just standing there. There were other kids running across the huge lawn in front of the school, laughing and shoving one another. Some girls were playing hopscotch on the cement, while older ones pointed to boys and giggled. He panicked.
"I want to go home." Gregory looked pleadingly up to his mother, jutting out his bottom lip and giving her the puppy dog eyes. She smiled down at him like mothers do when they think their child having a nervous breakdown is cute.
"Sweetie, you haven't even been inside the building. Don't you want to meet your teacher?"
Gregory deflated. Meeting his teacher was the one thing he was looking forward to the most. Maybe he would go in really quick and see what kind of teacher he was to have. If he didn't like her, he'd leave. No strings attached. "Well, alright, I guess."
His mother smiled down at him, relieved, and lead him through the mammoth doors and into the dep caverns of Yardale. They walked to a desk where many other parents were standing with their children, chattering all at once to the woman seated at the desk. Gregory's mother pursed her lips before grabbing a school map from a brochure holder and giving Gregory an amused look. "Looks like we'll find your classroom ourselves."
What a mistake that was. Thirty minutes later and they were in some great hallway that seemed to have no end. "Mum, my legs are sore."
"Not now, dear. I've got to find someone who can make sense of this stupid- Excuse me, Miss?" She dragged Gregory toward a teacher standing outside her door. "Can you help me find this classroom, please?"
The teacher smiled and gave Gregory an amused glance before taking the map and Gregory's information and studying it. "Oh, it's right down the hall, last door before you turn right."
"Thank you so much; this place is a maze!" Gregory's mother rubbed the back of her son's neck comfortingly as they neared the classroom. There was no teacher standing outside, just a bunch of nervous-looking five-year-olds. Some of them were crying, and Gregory gave his mother a distrusting look. "Oh, you'll be fine, dear. Go stand with the other children and I'll be right here when school's over, okay?" She gave Gregory a tight hug, making his ears turn pink.
"Mum, stop, you're embarrassing me," he hissed, pushing away from her. She smiled and wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.
"I'm sorry, I just can't believe my baby's going to be gone all day."
"I'll be fine, Mum, and I've been gone longer before." Anything to get her to go away. Some of the older children standing around were starting to laugh at his mother's antics.
She gave him one last motherly hug and nudged him toward the other kids. "Bye, Gregory. Have a great day at school."
He waved back, suddenly missing her, and wished he'd hugged her longer. However, there were now more important matters to attend to. He walked slowly to the back of the line of students, looking at each one to see if they were Christophe. When he got to the end, he sighed and slid down the wall opening his backpack and taking out a picture Christophe had drawn. He ran his fingers over the purple scribble and smiled. It was a picture of one of the harder words he'd taught him - a mountain. He had laughed the first time the French boy had attempted to pronounced it. Not to make fun of him, of course, but Christophe had certainly taken it that way, blushing and scowling wickedly. He threw the crayon he was holding and refused to repeat that word. Shocked by how harshly his friend was reacting, Gregory immediately moved onto the next word, telling himself he'd never laugh at the boy's accent again.
Now he glanced down at the paper with a frown, momentarily forgetting that Christophe might be at school now, wondering instead if the brunet was waiting for him on the front lawn, waiting to be taught more words. A part of Gregory hoped he was, that he came despite Gregory telling him not to, maybe hoping that the blond would be there after all. But the other part of him didn't want Christophe to wait for him all day and end up disappointed. What if he thought Gregory didn't want to teach him anymore?
Gregory was shaken out of his thoughts by a sudden hush sweeping over the children next to him. He carefully stuffed the paper back into his backpack and stood up, glancing at the other children to see why they had grown so quiet. It was then he noticed a very tall woman - taller than his mother, even - opening the door to the classroom. She had bright red hair that Gregory had never seen on anyone before, and a large face, like a full moon. Her lips were a straight line, making it hard for Gregory to tell if she was mean or not.
"Alright, kindergarteners, eyes forward." She turned her face toward them and smiled like a mother would, and the blond immediately relaxed. She was nice, he could tell already. "Welcome to your first day of school. As you walk into our classroom, I want you to tell me your name so I can put a sticker on you. That way we'll know who's who."
Immediately the children started entering the classroom, stopping when they met the teacher and beaming when she placed a nametag onto their shirts. Gregory looked down at his once he got it, and smiled when he recognized it as his name. Once everyone was inside, the teacher told them to read the words on their stickers and to sit at the desk that had the same thing written on its sticker.
Gregory found his rather quickly, pushing his backpack under the desk and putting his chin in his hands, watching the other children walk around in confusion until the teacher situated everyone in their spots. Then she turned to the board and the school day began. They spent thirty minutes learning something called The Pledge of Allegiance, reciting it to a flag in the corner of the room. After that the teacher taught them a song about the colors of a rainbow, which Gregory sung proudly, thinking the whole time what a wonderful song it would be to teach Christophe. After that the teacher led them outside for recess, teaching them how to play Duck, Duck, Goose. Gregory never got picked to be Goose, much to his disappointment, but the game was still fun.
They went back inside after that and sang more songs, like the Alphabet, the Days of the Week, and the Months of the Year. Lunch was after that, and Gregory saved the cookie he was given to take home for Christophe as an apology for not being able to be there. He played on the swings at recess, chased some of the other little boys, and held one end of a jump rope for the girls. The real work began when they came back into the classroom after lunch recess. The teacher, who Gregory named Ms. Moonface but didn't call her that, handed out sheets of paper with lines on them and told the class they would be learning how to write their names. While Gregory was good at recognizing his name, writing it was a different story. He had a lot of trouble with his e's, and r's weren't much better. Twice he made the second g in his name upside down and had to start over.
Finally he was writing it correctly, and the teacher came by and stuck a gold star on his paper. "Good job, Gregory. You can write your name." He blushed and smiled politely at her, staring at the star in awe when she went to help a girl with her Q. After a while the teacher said to put their papers in their cubbies, which she had shown them that morning, and to join her on the carpet, where she read them a story.
And just like that, school was over. Gregory's mother met him outside the classroom, and he ran up and hugged her tightly around her legs. "I had so much fun at school today, mum!"
"I knew you would, honey." He chatted about his day on the walk back to the car and the ride home. As they turned down their street, he remembered Christophe.
"Did my friend come over, mum? Was Christophe waiting for me all day?" He checked in his backpack to make sure the cookie wasn't crumbled.
"Mmm, no, I didn't see him all day. I suspect he was in school." They pulled into their driveway and Gregory scanned the yard for any sign that his friend had been there. Nothing. Glumly, he went inside up to his room and set the cookie on his desk. He pulled out the paper with his names and the sticker on it, and pinned it to the bulletin board his father had gotten him as a gift. His mother knocked on his door a moment later and walked inside. "Why don't we go down and see if Christophe can come over for a bit?"
And just like that, Gregory's mood lifted. "Yes, let's go!" He'd never been to Christophe's house (not being allowed to cross the street by himself) and Christophe had always declined when Gregory invited him inside.
He beat his mother down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time and skipping the last three. He shoved open the front door and skipped to the sidewalk, yelling at this mother to hurry up. "Hold on, Gregory! We'll get there before tomorrow." She eventually reached him and took his hand as they crossed the street, though Gregory saw no reason why he should have to hold her hand. He was five years old now, and Christophe crossed the street all the time, even if there was a car coming.
Gregory counted each house as they passed it, walking across the lawn of the fourth one and knocking on the door three times. The blond hid behind his mother when a brown-haired woman answered the door. "Allo?" She looked puzzled until she glanced down and caught sight of Gregory, recognition crossing her face. Gregory's mother smiled and spoke in choppy French, and it felt like eternity that she finally got her question through. Christophe's mother furrowed her brows as if deep in thought, then shrugged and turned toward the stairs. "Christophe!"
A small boy appeared at the top of the stairs, looking sheepish and lingering there. Gregory waved up at him and Christophe's face brightened upon noticing him. His mother signaled him down and the boy took the steps much more slowly than Gregory had done to his. He stopped next to his mother and looked up at her, awaiting instruction. She leaned down and spoke quietly to him, resting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. Christophe nodded after she finished and kissed her cheek. She stood back up and spoke slowly to Gregory's mother for an eternity before smiling and waving goodbye.
Gregory grabbed Christophe's hand as they walked back to his house, chattering excitedly about what they could play. Christophe kept his eyes on the ground, looking up every now and then to let the bond know he was listening, even if he didn't understand.
"You're going to give him a headache, Gregory. Take it easy." His mother chuckled and let them in the front door. "I'll make lunch. Why don't you take Christophe up to your room and play?"
Gregory nodded and tugged the French boy up the stairs and racing him to his room. "Here's my room. It's painted blue because that used to be my favorite color. Mum says I can paint it whatever color I want when I'm older. Whenever that'll be." He lead Christophe to his bed and had him sit, plopping down next to him. He smiled and patted the brunet's shoulder where his mother had squeezed it. Christophe glanced at his hand wearily and stood, walking around the room and inspecting all the toys. He picked up a stuffed elephant that looked well-worn and glanced back at Gregory, who explained: "That's General Thorne, commander of the troops."
The brunet raised an eyebrow before setting the animal back down. He looked to the ceiling as if trying to remember something, then asked. "What is...the troops?"
"What are the troops," Gregory corrected quietly. Then he brightened and slid off his bed, digging underneath it and pulling out a bin of smaller toy animals. "These are the troops." Christophe's mouth opened in awe and he came and kneeled down next to the blond. Gregory rummaged through the bin and took out some of his favorites, naming each one and handing them to Christophe. "This is John Erickson, this is Eric Johnson, here's Medic - he doesn't have a name, everyone just calls him Medic because he heals people."
Medic was an old giraffe with a paper clip bent to look like a stethoscope around his neck. Christophe put the other toys down when he received the giraffe, inspecting the worn toy thoroughly. Gregory watched him.
"He's also a government spy. He goes in with the other troops to make sure they don't get hurt while on missions." He pursed his lips, thinking. "Do you like him?"
Christophe snapped his head up, furrowing his brow.
Gregory repeated the question, unsure of how to get Christophe to understand. "I asked if you liked him. Medic." After another long pause Gregory grabbed Christophe's wrist, the one holding the old toy, and pushed it gently against the brunet's chest. "You can have him." He laughed at the surprised look on Christophe's face. "But you hafta make sure he comes over and heals the troops when they get injured. Okay?"
Christophe looked down at the toy, then up at Gregory's smiling face. Then he shoved the Brit and ran out of the room, leaving Medic behind.
The blond sat there for a few minutes, trying to get his breath back and to understand what just happened. "Christophe!" he finally called, scrambling to stand and scooping up the giraffe, running out into the hallway. He heard the bathroom door slam and knew it had to have been the other boy. He rushed over and put his ear to the door. "Christophe, what's wrong? Have I upset you somehow?"
"Gregory, what's going on up there?" His mother's head appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Nothing, Mum. We're playing a game," he lied. He didn't want her to get involved. He felt that somehow that would just make things worse for Christophe. "We're playing troops."
She sighed and shook her head. "Alright, but keep it down. And lunch is almost ready, come down now."
"Okay, I'll tell Christophe." She disappeared back down the stairs and Gregory waited a while before knocking gently on the door. "Christophe, come out of there." He tried the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. He opened the door slightly and peeked inside before entering the room fully. "Christophe."
He found the boy sitting in the tub, hugging his knees to his chest. He scowled when he saw Gregory, and the blond took a step back.
"It's time to come down for lunch. Don't you want to eat?" Gregory gathered his courage and slowly approached the boy, sitting on the edge of the tub and staring down at him. He noticed wet lines down Christophe's face, and wondered why he'd been crying. "Are you upset because you don't like Medic?" He held up the giraffe and Christophe growled, slapping it out of his hand. "Hey! No hitting!"
The brunet flinched away from him, closing his eyes tight and holding up his arms. Gregory frowned and cocked his head.
"Now what are you doing? I'm not going to hit you, for goodness' sake!" He reached out a hand and gently grabbed Christophe's wrists, making him put his arms down. Christophe opened his eyes and stared down at the bottom of the tub, looking more miserable than Gregory had ever seen anyone look. "What's wrong?" he whispered desperately, climbing into the tub and squishing in next to his friend. He stroked the dark hair a few times, remembering how his mother did that when he was upset. "Tell me."
The French boy took a deep breath and shook his head, instead turning toward the blond and tightly wrapping his arms around him. Gregory's eyebrows raised in confusion and worry before he hugged back, trailing his fingers up and down Christophe's back.
After a while Mrs. Thorne's voice called from down the hallway. "Boys, come down for lunch!"
Gregory pulled slightly away from the brunet and met his eyes before answering, "Coming, Mum." He stood and got out of the tub, grabbing Christophe's hand with one hand and Medic with the other and leading them out of the bathroom. As they were walking down the stairs, he felt the giraffe being pulled out of his hand while Christophe squeezed the other. Gregory smiled.
They had grilled cheese for lunch, and Gregory's mother made another one for Christophe when she saw how fast he'd eaten his first one. After that, they'd gone back upstairs, and Gregory gave Christophe the cookie he had saved for him. "I got it from school," he said proudly, then taught Christophe the Colors of the Rainbow song. The French boy got the lyrics down very quickly and sung along with the blond, smiling and laughing each time they finished it. It was like the moment in the bathroom hadn't happened, and Gregory wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but at least now Christophe was smiling.
He taught him the Alphabet song after that, this one taking much longer for Christophe to learn. He kept messing up on W, but that letter had been hard for Gregory to learn as well, so it wasn't a big deal. He showed Christophe how he had written his name, and the gold star that he had received for his work. He wished he could teach Christophe how to write his name, but he had no idea how to even spell it. So he just had Christophe write 'Gregory' over and over on a piece of paper, and drew a yellow star on it when he finished. Christophe looked pleased with himself.
After a while, Gregory's mother came up the stairs and said it was time to walk Christophe home. The two boys groaned and Gregory begged his mother to let him stay longer.
"Sorry, dear, but his mother seemed very strict that he be home by six. I'm sure you two can play again tomorrow." Gregory sighed and collected Christophe's things for him. The brunet shook his head, looking worried. He grabbed Medic and the paper out of Gregory's hands and set them on his desk.
"Stay," he pleaded, and Gregory understood but didn't understand.
"You don't want to take your things home? Why not?" He turned to his mother. "Ask him why he doesn't want to take his things home."
Gregory's mother sighed and glanced down at her watch. She spoke French softly and slowly to Christophe, who turned red and muttered an answer back to her, looking at the floor. "He just wants them to stay here, Gregory. Now let's go."
They shuffled along slowly behind Mrs. Thorne as they walked the short distance back to Christophe's house. The brunet seemed to have returned to his quiet self, not even smiling when Gregory sang the Rainbow song.
Christophe's mother received him with a nod and a small, fake smile to Gregory's mother. Then she closed the door without so much as a goodbye and a short while later the living room lights went off, leaving them in the dark.
"Strange," Mrs. Thorne commented, staring at the door that had just closed for a short moment before grabbing Gregory's hand and leading him back home. Gregory contemplated telling her what had happened in the bathroom earlier that day, how Christophe had shrunk away from him, expecting to be hit. It gave the blond a bad feeling in his stomach, but he wasn't sure telling his mother would help. So he remained quiet and went up to his room to get ready for a bath, wanting to wash all the bad feelings away.
xxx
Gregory's first week of school went well. He learned how to write the whole alphabet, and started learning the sounds of the letters, which he taught Christophe when they met after Gregory got home. The blond was starting to think that the French boy didn't go to school at all. Wouldn't he have been learning these things, too? But Christophe was always surprised at the information brought home, like he'd never heard of letters making sounds before.
It wasn't until a week later that he found out Christophe was being "home-schooled", as discovered by Gregory's mother, who had started inviting the French boy's mother over. She claimed that since their sons didn't seem like they were ever going to separate anytime soon, they might as well get to know the other parent. Gregory's father was still on his business trip, and would be staying there later than expected due to a sudden problem at the company. Christophe's father was somewhere in France; he'd been chased away by Mrs. DeLorne when Christophe was three, the Thorne's discovered.
Gregory's mother explained the concept of home-schooling to him one night at dinner, saying that Mrs. DeLorne chose to keep Christophe home and teach him herself. "She doesn't like the idea of him being away from her for too long, it seems."
"But then why isn't he learning anything?" Gregory asked, furrowing his brow. "I can already count to twenty, and he's still stuck at seven!"
"Everyone teaches and learns differently, Gregory. It's her choice to keep him home, and it's none of our business what she does or does not teach him." But Gregory could tell it bugged his mother that Christophe wasn't going to school, where he would have the chance to learn English and other skills he would desperately need in the future. Which is probably why she encouraged their friendship, seeing the benefit it was having on both boys.
A month passed, and Gregory's dad announced over the telephone that he'd finally be coming back home. The blond could barely contain his excitement, and chattered about it to anyone who was willing (or not) to listen at school. He had been "shh'd" three times by the teacher, who gave up by the end of the day and listened for fifteen minutes as Gregory explained why his dad was "the coolest dad in the world".
He talked about his father to Christophe when he got home, and the brunet, who was rapidly learning more and more English, asked him what it was like to have a dad, picking grass out of their perfectly manicured lawn and shoving it into a hole that had mysteriously appeared on Medic.
"It's...nice," Gregory said carefully, taking notice of how the corners of Christophe's mouth had suddenly turned down. "He likes to spend time with me. I help him wash the car sometimes, and then we go out for ice cream."
"What's that?" Christophe dropped the wad of grass he'd collected and looked into Gregory's eyes. The blond's mouth fell agape.
"You don't know what ice cream is?" Christophe scowled and his face turned red in embarrassment and anger.
"No, I do not."
Gregory patted his friend's back. "It's okay. I'm sorry. I'll go get you some." He smiled and ruffled Christophe's hair affectionately. "Wait here." He rushed inside the house and came out a few moments later with a bowl of vanilla ice cream. "This is ice cream." He gave the bowl and a spoon to Christophe, who took it suspiciously. "Go on."
The French boy sighed and took a small spoonful. He made a face and pushed the bowl away, glaring at Gregory. "It's too...it's, I don't know 'ow to say. But I don't like it!"
Gregory frowned, his eyebrows raised high. "You don't?" He looked down at the bowl of dessert and huffed. "I wonder why? Tell me, are you lactose intolerant?" There was a kid in his class who was lactose intolerant and couldn't have any dairy products, which included ice cream.
"I don't know what that is."
"No, you're not because I've seen you drink milk." He remembered a time when he had eaten too much candy and had gotten sick, swearing off the stuff until the next week when he felt better. "Maybe it's too sweet for you."
"Too sweet?"
"Yeah, like candy. Sugar."
Christophe shrugged and went back to picking grass. "I suppose so."
"Well, that's a real shame because some of the best things in life are sweet."
"Like my mother..." There was a long pause before the two burst out laughing. They both knew Mrs. DeLorne was anything but sweet - the polar opposite actually. She was sour, like a lemon.
xxx
It was a Saturday when Gregory and his mother went to pick up Mr. Thorne from the airport. While Gregory was excited to finally see his father after so long, he felt guilty leaving Christophe behind with his mother. He was recently sporting a new bruise on his left arm that looked too much like a woman's fingers to be anything but, and when Gregory asked about it, Christophe grew grumpy and refused to speak until the subject was changed.
"Where is he?" Gregory asked, walking through a throng of people as they entered the terminal. He clutched onto his mother's dress so he wouldn't get lost.
"I don't- there he is!" She scooped up Gregory and pushed her way through the crowd, smiling and meeting with her husband. "Hello, dear."
"There's my family!" Mr. Thorne said dramatically, enveloping them in a tight hug. He looked tired, Gregory noticed.
"How was your flight?" he asked, pulling off his father's glasses and putting them on himself. The world looked blurry and it made Gregory uncomfortable. He pushed them back onto his father's head, poking the man in the eye in the process.
Mr. Thorne set down his son and rubbed his eye. "Well, I could see out of both eyes on the plane, so it was wonderful." He smiled. "How've you been, Gregory?"
The blond told him all about school and what he was learning as they drove back home, singing all the songs he knew and counting as high as he could, earning applause and high praise from both parents.
He felt guilty for some reason, getting so much support and love from his parents while Christophe tried desperately to please his mother, earning only contempt in return.
As they neared their neighborhood, Gregory grew quiet. His parents didn't notice, catching up on what had been going on while they were apart, leaving Gregory to mull over how unfair life seemed to be.
He smiled as they pulled into their driveway and noticed that Christophe was sitting on the curb. "Is that the boy you kept telling me about?" Mr. Thorne asked.
"Yeah, you should meet him!" Gregory unbuckled his seat belt and pushed open the door, running back across the lawn and tackling Christophe in a hug.
"What is wrong with you?" Christophe shouted from the ground, trying to look angry at the blond but failing. Gregory rolled off him and helped him up.
"Come meet my father." My brunet immediately became shy, taking a step away from the Brit. He became reserved again like he was when anyone other than the blond was present.
Gregory smiled reassuringly at him before grabbing his hand and leading him toward the car. Mr. Thorne grinned and held out his hand. Small fingers shakily found their way into his palm and they shook hands. "Nice to meet you, Christophe."
The French boy nodded and let his hand fall back down, turning his head away. Gregory patted Christophe's shoulder and look at his parents. "We're going to play up in my room, now."
He grabbed the brunet's hand and pulled him along, racing him up the stairs and losing only because Christophe cheated and is a "meany-face". The other boy seemed more chipper in his victory, and they set to work playing with the "troops".
Gregory had General Thorne order everyone on a top-secret mission to retrieve he body of a fallen comrade (an old G.I. Joe doll that had accidentally been put through a washing in the dishwasher) and Christophe went along as Medic, who also happened to be the one who was to directly save Joe. Following the orders from General Thorne via walkie-talkie, the dangerous mission was completed victoriously, with only a few casualties.
Both boys seemed rather proud at their work and were made even more excitable when Gregory mentioned that they should "play for real".
"We can ask my father to give us a real mission; let's go!" They scrambled down the stairs, Christophe leaping over the last four and landing in a crouch looking dazed. Gregory laughed and tugged him up, running into the living room and diving onto his dad's lap. The older male groaned in pain and smiled through it, putting down the newspaper he'd been reading.
"Why hello, son. Let's be careful when we jump onto others, okay?"
"Sure. Dad, we need a mission!" Gregory motioned over to Christophe, who was standing in the doorway. "Something dangerous."
Mr. Thorne grinned. "Hmm. Help your mother cook. Now that's scary." Gregory rolled his eyes.
"Something real!"
"Alright, alright. I've got one. But I must warn you: This is possibly the most dangerous mission I'll ever ask of you."
Gregory's eyes widened and Christophe stepped further into the room in interest. "What is it, Dad?!"
"I need you to pick up something from the store. All by yourselves. Can you do that?"
Both boys gasped. "By ourselves? Like, crossing the street alone?"
"Yes. This is a profoundly serious mission, boys. Gather round and I'll give you the details."
Christophe scurried to the couch and sat on the other side of Mr. Thorne as he drew them a map to the store five blocks away. After telling them how to cross the street safely and making them promise to be careful, he handed Christophe a five dollar bill and Gregory a slip of paper that read "milk", and thus sent them off on their first official mission.
They burst out the front door like wild dogs let off the leash and ran down the sidewalk passed Christophe's house, stopping at a corner to consult the map. "How many blocks left, Christophe?"
The French boy counted the little squares Mr. Thorne had drawn, ignoring their neighborhood since they were already passed it. "Four, General Thorne."
"Excellent. Now it is time for our first dangerous task: Crossing the street." Gregory grabbed Christophe's hand and looked both ways like his father had said to do. The brunet huffed in impatience after twenty seconds of standing with no cars coming either way. He stepped out into the street and tugged the now fear-stricken Gregory with him. The blond's eyes continued to dart back and forth, making sure the road stayed clear.
He let out loud sigh of relief once they touched the sidewalk again. Christophe scoffed and rolled his eyes, dropping Gregory's hand and walking ahead. The blond scurried to catch up with him. "Do you still have the money?"
"Uh-huh."
"Good. I still have the list. Do you know what it says?" He pushed the paper in Christophe's face and the boy waved it away.
"It says milk."
"Yep. Milk. M. I. L. K. Milk." He began to sing one of the songs he'd been learning in school about grocery items when Christophe suddenly put a hand over his mouth, hissing a "Shh!" H pointed up ahead where there were a group of older boys, probably fith or sixth graders.
"Danger," he whispered. Gregory pried his hand off his mouth and nodded, furrowing his eyebrows.
"We have to sneak past them," he said in Christophe's ear. "But how?"
The shorter boy glanced around the street, nudging Gregory and pointing to an open gate leading into someone's yard. "There."
The blond nodded and the two snuck through the gate, crouching low and army crawling through the front yard and into the back yard. "Good idea, Christophe. We're clear now."
Suddenly there was a loud bark and a yell from Christophe. Gregory turned toward his companion in worry and gasped when he saw a flash of fur, sharp yellow teeth, and bright red blood. Instinct made him back up, common sense making him grab the collar of Christophe's well-worn shirt and tug him back harshly.
The Doberman was on a chain, keeping the snapping beast just inches away from Christophe. The brunet was clutching his arm, staring at the dog in shock and fear. The back door swung open and an old man with stringy hair stomped out, locking his sights on the two trespassing boys.
"Run!" Gregory shook himself from his fear and grabbed Christophe's uninjured hand, pulling him back across the front yard and threw the gate, running as fast as he could. He barely glanced at all before crossing the street, almost getting himself and Christophe hit by an oncoming car, before running and knocking furiously on the DeLorne's front door.
Mrs. DeLorne opened the door with a curious face - she almost never got visitors - before looking down and taking in the situation. "Christophe!" she exclaimed, sound half-worried and half-reprimanding. She opened the door wider and tugged him inside, yelling French words that sounded concerned and angry at the same time. Gregory followed them inside, up the stairs to the bathroom as Mrs. DeLorne raged on and Christophe cried.
She washed his arm in the sink, rubbing her hand gently over the bite, not saying a word but 'tsk'ing whenever Christophe whimpered. After making sure the wound was clean and dry, she rubbed an ointment over it and wrapped it in gauze. He sighed in relief and wrapped his arms around her stomach, murmuring French until she pried him off of her and spoke harshly to him. Gregory figured she was asking what had happened, and Christophe bowed his head as he replied.
Gregory interrupted with his own story, knowing that Mrs. DeLorne wouldn't understand but hoping she would think it was mostly his fault. He didn't want Christophe to get in trouble.
She stared at him as if she had just noticed he was there. There was a long pause before she sighed and muttered tiredly. Christophe's mother stood and escorted the boys out of the bathroom, leading them downstairs and motioning for Gregory to go home. The blond slumped in defeat and guilt, giving Christophe an apologetic look before the door was shut.
Christophe would be afraid of dogs for the rest of his life.