Author's Note: Second chapter! (:

Thanks to doodlegirll for reviewing! 3

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Franny gasped as a meatball zoomed past, grazing her cheek. She tasted the sauce and an evil smile crept onto her face. "Surely that," she said menacingly, turning around, "is not the best you can do!" Her gaze turned to her brother, Gaston. She jumped on the table as Gaston fired meatballs at her through his beloved meatball cannon.

"Impressive, little sister," he grinned. "Your skills are strong, but not strong enough!"

"Your words do not threaten me, brother!"

"Then enough words. Now, the real battle … begins!"

A fierce mêlée of meatballs commenced between Gaston and Franny. Meatballs flew everywhere, though Franny managed to nimbly dodge each one.

"Your meatballs are useless against me," Franny taunted, striking a pose.

"Then perhaps it's time for … spicy Italian sausage!"

Franny gave a sharp, horrified intake of breath. "No!" She thrust out a hand and whacked the sausage fiercely; it ricocheted off her hand and hit Gaston in the face. He toppled over, waving a white flag, while Franny gloated over her triumph.

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It had always been like that; Gaston and Art teamed up against Franny, boys against girl. It had been a source of great irritation to Franny as a girl, especially when she was with Cornelius, but the three had grown out of it. Franny had managed to overcome them many times, anyway, especially as she had a science geek and inventor on her side. Art, being the oldest, found the whole business tiresome long before Franny and Gaston had stopped having fun with it, so Franny and Gaston had continued to clash with each other alone. Gaston snuck into Franny's room and stole her diary, and Franny continued to beat him in their nightly food fights. They swore they would never be closer than they had to be as brother and sister.

But Gaston turned out to be one of the most important people in Franny's life.

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"I'll bet I can beat you in a race," an eight year old Franny challenged her brother, gliding to a stop on her shining white ice skates. Her cheeks were flushed pink with cold. Art watched them from the side, sighing in boredom – he was, clearly, only there because his mother had made him go.

Gaston scoffed at her confidence, his head held high. "Right, Sis," he answered condescendingly (though he was only two years older), circling the girl on tough black hockey skates. "How much do you wanna bet?"

"All chores for a month," Franny replied immediately. "From this end to the other." Gaston grinned wickedly.

"You're on," he accepted the challenge. They carefully lined up at one end of the pond, making sure that neither was a single inch ahead of the other.

"Ready … set …"

"GO!" Franny and Gaston both hollered the word in unison. They both began skating madly across the frozen surface. Gaston was pulling ahead, his jet coloured skates a black blur on the ice. All of a sudden, he screeched to a stop.

A splash, then a high pitched scream.

"Gaston!" the boy turned back in time to see Franny disappear under the ice, her bright green scarf waving in the biting wind. "Gaston!" she called again, her terror showing in her voice.

Gaston searched desperately around for a long stick or pole. Art continued to watch, frozen in horror. His gaze landed on a bough that had fallen from a nearby pine tree; he snatched it up and dashed to his sister.

"Grab this, Franny!" he yelled. Her small gloved hands clutched frantically at the limb. Pine needles showered down from it onto the ice. There was another splash as Franny lost her grip and fell under again.

"Hold on!" Gaston cried. Franny managed to get a hold of the branch; Gaston heaved until she was back on the ice, the both of them panting and shivering. Gaston tore off his jacket and draped it around Franny's shoulders. He hurriedly pulled off his skates and put his boots back on. Art, regaining the ability to move, gathered Franny up and carried her to their home, just two blocks away.

Back home, Franny sat in front of a blazing fire with several blankets and a large stuffed frog. Gaston sat beside her, drinking the huge mug of hot chocolate that his sister had refused.

"Are you … okay?" he asked awkwardly.

"Fine," Franny answered. She smiled at Gaston: "Thanks for pulling me out of the pond."

"Well, what was I supposed to do? Let you drown?" he teased. "Maybe I should have done that, instead."

"But then you'd have nobody to do your chores for the next month," Franny reminded him seriously, "like we agreed. And you'd have to do mine as well, since I'd be dead of hippo-thermia or whatever it's called."

Gaston laughed. "Well … maybe just this once, we'll call it off."

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Author's Note: Review please!